the weekend marriage

it was nineteen sixty-nine,

and we tried

to check into a motel at the beach

but the woman

wanted to

see our marriage license.

you don't even

have rings, she said

from behind the counter

of the Capri Motel

on Pacific Avenue.

nice try.

we were eighteen.

so we went out and bought rings

at a five

and dime

and put them on,

we tied some tin cans

to the back of the car,

soaped up

the windows

with the words

Just Married.

then we tried the next motel

up the street.

it worked this time.