A stormy romance ends in the arms
of another, ends with ‘too long at the bar’.
Am I marrying for money?
Should I hire a wig? I buy a book
on ways to disappear.
She licks the stranger’s face.
I raise two flutes at the camera.
Snap, snap. You pretend indifference,
study the table of gifts.
‘Stand and deliver or lie down
like a pig’. I love your shoulders,
but detest the cake.
Why is Vladimir attending the priest?
Who is that priest? You say:
‘I’ve just popped in from Alaska’,
and slip the ring from your finger.
It gets hot waltzing and I’m the one
wearing the white gown.
1 May 2015