Charlotte Ballard

An Early Marriage

Poem by Charlotte Ballard

Mary Jane,
The great green whore,
Bride of death, waits
At the altar of compulsion.
While crake, the best man
Cradles the sweet smelling
Bouquet made of speed-balls and
Angel dust, faithfully wrapped
With a band of gold
Stolen with a promise.
An ambulance wail signals
The bridal march,
For a marriage bed
That will be consummated in
A grave not yet placed.

The matchmakers whisper
A sweet siren call-
A good, gentle bride
Wrapped in plastic and fire.

Dark corners and sweaty palms;
The bride price paid.
In shame,
He takes her home.

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Read poems about / on: marriage, angel, green, fire, home, dark, death

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Poem Edited: Sunday, November 10, 2013