Another bride, another June, another sunny honeymoon
Another season, another reason for makin’ whoopee
It’s hot. The folding metal chairs
we sit on could at least make toast,
if not fry eggs.
We offer up our copious sweat
to the new, pulled into being
amidst the passing of the old.
The bride and groom trip happily
through their vows, and voila!
Two become one; the groom kisses the bride.
Later, at the Cutting of the Cake,
the inexhaustible cameras re-appear.
“No more kissing,” says the lip-weary bride.
He kisses her anyway, for good measure.
No one mentions dying.
We go home, fat and content.