“I want the pharaohs, but there’s only men.” 
                                                            -Neko Case

The ring is inside a box
not meant for a ring.

The Cadillac is white.
The day has no wet in it.

Flowers are put out like one 
arranging tiny lingerie. 

It’s Las Vegas in the mind,
so everything stays there.

It’s honor. It’s horror. Divorce,
fake as it is, bloody on the dash.

A wife is a wife is a wife
is a daughter. I make no vows

with the failure of our salvation. 
At sea, mariners would say 

this is a sure thing, 
shipwreck, and be done with it. 

July Westhale is the author of Trailer Trash(winner of the 2016 Kore Press Book Award), The Cavalcade, and Occasionally Accurate Science. Her most recent poetry can be found in The National Poetry Review, Prairie Schooner, CALYX, Rappahannock Review, Tupelo Quarterly, RHINO, Lunch Ticket, and Quarterly West. Her essays have been nominated for Best American Essays, as well as the Pushcart prize. She moonlights as a journalist at The Establishment, and has appeared in The Huffington Post.www.julywesthale.com