Fake Wedding

Of course she married her boss
of course there was irromantic
planning and scoping for pork
for the jock gone fat in the jowls
lured away from his wraith of a wife
and surly adolescents pouting about
in their secret lurkingplaces
and wild ice storms howl outside
then a day of the melts
then quick freezes all over again
then warm rain adding to the slick
and I splayfoot it across
the expanse of ice plain
like an old penguin
who'll never make it to the Pole
and certainly never back
to the merciless blizzards
the way it was supposed to be
in the dead of a real winter
and honeymoons under quilts
of goose down & stopped clocks.

John Birkbeck

If you've any comments on this poem, John Birkbeck would be pleased to hear from you.