The icing of the cake was when
The bride gave it a repulsive look
And barely opened her alabastered pout
And bit, eyes closed, the piece she took.
At a given cue, the lights flashed,
And the groom held high the bottled spirit
With the girl, all beams, holding to his crook
He let the champagne flow down the glass pyramid.
They toasted and a clown came forth and spoke
Wishing well and let go what, to him was a joke;
And the gathered, in their devotion to foolish pranks,
Laughed out loud (like on FB); the groom muttered a thanks.
They dined, in regalia, the Kandyan Chiefs
In 1815 left for pretenders and thieves
(Only later to re-emerge in more normal gear,
In order to ‘Go Away’, waving back through the rear).
Till the sweat ran dry, or the breath fell flat
Like cartoons without an artist they danced the jig
As the vocalist smiled from song to song:
A sweetness detained in the body of a pig.
That smile, that freshness is of use, no doubt,
When my turn comes to wish, with a hug and kisses.
The camera follows my eye, so I feel too shy
As tangles of wire the cameraman misses.
So, you step out, then, once again, three hours passed by
And watch as their unmade and fatigue mixed face
Fall back on the seat in the back of a car
All hired, polished and chauffeured for the race.
And then comes the question which, like sunrise, arrives
From the unknowing company of handbagged wives:
Am I not married? When do I, then, change status?
Oh, give me a hand up to your pathetic lives!
As she smiles, touching a filament of sweat by her nose
And without a camera I am tempted to observe her close.
“There they go!” she is happy as the car takes a swerve.
“Happy couple!” and I am steady, trying to summon my nerve.