the race

in the early morning
as you get
your coffee, you see
the gaggle of
women waiting for
the bridal shop
to open. like horses
at the starting gate,
but eating like
jockeys before the race
to fit into
their colors of choice.
old and young.
the buzz of it all,
the track they've
never run,
set before them,
like silk, or mud,
who's to know.
they are jumpy
in their stalls,
rattling in their
cages at the start,
waiting for the gun,
or wedding bells
to sound. and
the mothers, who've
seen both ends
of the race, are
nervous as they place
their bets
at the window, hoping
for a winner
this time around.