the stripes on the road

the seamstress

stood me

up in between the folds

of three

floor

mirrors.

holding the tape

down

my legs, around my waist

then arms.

i was between child

and man,

at the time, a boy

who needed a suit

for the wedding

i was to be in.

i look

back on the photo

of me

and the child bride,

her white

dress, my white suit

with black piping.

we took our honeymoon

in Ocean City,

three days and two nights,

eating

at Phillips

for crab legs and a salad,

house wine.

on the way home,

down route fifty we stopped

at a road stand

and bought

tomatoes, fat and ripe,

how fast

the stripes on the road

have flown by.