the wedding

The Wedding

I’m going to a wedding in June; in the part of
Brussels where even street cleaners speaks
French, all be it, with a working class accent.

The bride and groom have lived together for
twenty years and have grown up children,
they will look ancient walking down the aisle.

Their children, both a university, are slightly
embarrassed they had hoped, as had the groom
hoped for a modest registrar office affair.

But the bride wants her day, a wedding as big
as the one her younger sister had ten years
ago in the splendid city of Paris; so there.

I’m not a party animal, if sober I’m ill at ease,
if I drink I talk a lot till peoples’ eyes glaze
over, or I fall asleep on the nearest couch.

I have promised to be on my best behaviour
this means diet coke on ice and tries not to
look at my wrist watch every five minutes.