It's almost wedding season
But then! Then I went to my first therapy session in years. That's as "bloggy" as I'll get about that subject! So, as I was saying, But then! I had a poem idea. A conversation popped right up onto my computer screen. At least it wasn't in my head!
Let's see if blogger will let me post it from Word with tabs. Oh. Not well. Not well at all. I just don't have the patience for HTML--or the skill. The thing is, I really like these two poems next to each other, one left justified, one tabbed over. So, I will post the complete poems following. No crazy spaces or funky spacing, just so you can read them separately. Bear with me. I worked on this HTML for an hour!
On the Occasion of The Wife’s Eighth Wedding Anniversary: A Conversation
Drag them to the altar, Isn’t there anyone to stop
your feet, cemented in suede me? Friend, mother, lover?
pumps, poised to jump Read the script. You are cordially invitedthrough the hoops of marriage, to maul the mailman. Just jump the guyscurry through the whale bone take back the invitations.of ivory crinolin. Hunt down the bluejaysIf you can’t wait to wrap making love in the bushes,your young frame in gingham, humping through the air.draw the apron strings tight Give them a room far from myyou have been worshipping watery eyes. We are all doomedat the wrong altar, to drown in our sorrows one wayyou missed your stop, or another. While you are out theremissed your cue, missed the point. rustle up the dressmakerMark my words bride, rip your bodice from his handsyou will miss the Miss. stain his fingers with the sweet cherryof a fine cigar. Bring me the butt.On the Occassion of the Wife's Eighth Wedding AnniversaryDrag them to the altar,
your feet, cemented in suede
pumps, poised to jump
through the hoops of marriage,
scurry through the whale bone
of ivory crinolin.
If you can’t wait to wrap
your young frame in gingham,
draw the apron strings tight,
you have been worshipping
at the wrong altar. You missed your stop
missed your cue, missed the point.
Mark my words bride,you will miss the Miss.Miss: In ReplyIsn’t there anyone to stopme? Friend, mother, lover?Read the script.You are cordially invitedto maul the mailman. Just jump the guytake back the invitations.Hunt down the bluejaysmaking love in the bushes,humping through the air.Give them a room far from mywatery eyes. We are all doomedto drown in our sorrows one wayor another. While you are out thererustle up the dressmaker.Rip your bodice from his hands,stain his fingers with the sweet cherryof a fine cigar. Bring me the butt.