jan oskar hansen
The Wedding - Poem by jan oskar hansen
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 adult children, their parents
will look ancient walking down the aisle.
Their children, both at university, are slightly
embarrassed they had hoped, as had the groom
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
these means diet coke on ice and try not to
look at my wrist watch every five minutes.
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