The Groom From Fiji Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

It was confirmed at last,
her beau, a Fiji Indian.
Came from an ancient line
of cannibals. No kidding.

His hair was coarse,
a flattened, big-nostril nose
and nigger lips, oh, pardon me,
a taut physique, in khaki gold,

and chewing strange, exotic herbs.
He did assure them of the change
that had, some time ago
swept all the islands in the strait

and pork had long since taken
the place of human flesh.
Most of it had been white.
Thanksgiving came at last,

it was a great success
and in the afternoon some cousins
had arrived on the 4: 30 plane.
They wore Hawaiian shirts
and dark designer shades.

And full of liquor and a sweet
Italian wine from Tuscany,
they did retire early, but the cousins
had volunteered to do the dishes.

It was a gesture much appreciated.
This tale is being told to you
by one who was right at the scene,
who watched the happenings
with growing appetite so soon.
I am a cousin and my hair is coarse.