My prim sister, cultured and proud,
rolled her eyes at her wedding vows.
Caught on camera, she couldn’t deny,
and blushed to her roots like a virgin bride.
I loved to see it (I’m mean as a snake
and in love with the husband
she’ll never forsake).
I point it out to any who’ll listen
while the new bride hisses 
you little vixen.
But her words can’t pierce through my heart of stone.
It keeps growing harder
the longer I’m alone.
I find this is more fun than stealing her shoes—
her hot new husband
gives her so much more to lose.

Mary Beth Hines

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Mary Beth Hines
would be pleased to hear them.