A Distant Sunder Poem by David Alpaugh

“What God hath joined together, let no man put—”

I used to solder.
The reasons why are now obscure.
Maybe just to bring old junk back to life:
a clock, a ceiling fan, my father’s Philco;
to see or hear gizmos, gone silent or dark,
whirr, light up, or sound an alarm.

There was a rude art to it, and an odor:
The shock of a barely audible pfusssst;
a sudden melt; quick hardening.

Just a lad, fooling around in Dad’s cellar;
making intimate connections;
bringing strands of copper
—cleansed of dirt & grease—
together (or back together)
with a silvery ring.

Do you, wire A, take this wire, C,
to be your lawful wedded weld?

As I built each bridge over troubled metal,
pulses quickened; couples thrummed: I do!

But Judas snuck into my make-believe chapel
and hid in the last pew; while the parson
argued a slam-dunk case against betrayal.

Still, I heard God’s demiurge say:

Do what fasteners may,
love & solder will be kissed away
by a distant sunder.