I gazed over the congregation uniformed
in service to a union I didn’t give a year
flat-pained smile on my face
a life-size cut-out posed in a cloned dress.
They returned my countenance some genuine
shedding tears some solid cardboard as mine.
But if they only knew how these two had cornered me
in their bedroom in a drunken proposition, how we vowed
we’d never tell anyone ‘til death do us part,
there might’ve been something other
than that stupid grin on his grandma.
Rob stood starched in his tux, blinked like a narcoleptic,
White-Stripped smiling, reeking of gin,
face pale as the lace of last night’s stripper,
glistening in after-shave sweat.
Faith always wanted a spring wedding,
a fresh start in comfortable weather.
Truth is she’d just wanted a wedding,
one of those women that plan it since the day
they learned what it was, rehearsed in mirrors
in their mom’s heels, clopping as they practiced
the first dance to U2’s All I Want is You
with an invisible true love
who’d proposed the most unique-romantic way.
Rob did it at Outback Steakhouse on Valentine’s Day.
When the organ boomed, the eager crowd shifted
crunched pews under their weight, anticipating
the open-bar reception with impatience.
And so there came the bride, her chest swelling
with the silicone crammed beneath
the stark white sheath of her dress.
As she pigeon-toed closer, teetered in satin stilettos,
Rob tightened with dignity as fake as her tits and orgasms.
He gave me a quick glance, nodded with focused devotion;
the last time he’d done that she and I had writhed
spread-eagled beneath him.
I choked on my laughter; Mr. Vaughan gave away his daughter.
She turned to me, make-up slathered pin-up thick as always,
handed me her bouquet with a this is it glint, shimmering
with purity I’d never seen before.
So when she placed her manicured hands
in the sweaty palms of his,
when the priest asked if anyone had reason
for these two not to wed, to speak now,
I protected them
with a glare on the congregation,
and forever held my peace.
