You dressed in turquoise blue
Same hue as the bridesmaids
Clashing with the green grass of Ripponlea
We shimmied in stealthily
Crowd gathered in as the bride arrived
Tears welling in your trusting eyes
You'd flown 4000 kilometers for this
Yet she wasn’t the bride we knew
Unless the stress of getting married
Had made her put on 10 kilos
And grow a Groucho Marx nose
How to make a subtle retreat?
Edging away we spied security staff
Thinking surely they might know
“Shit! We’re at the wrong wedding!”
“But at the right reception.
It’s here at six. The ceremony is in Ivanhoe.”
Taxi then, mad dash half way across the city
Little chance of success and yet
Our Indian driver held fast to Melways
As a Hindu he believed in consulting scripture
But maps never paint the full picture
So the churches all bummed out
But we made it back for the reception somehow
Sat through speeches and courses
Beer and white wine up to our eyeballs
Until after the bridal waltz
You got to the chance to dance in your blue dress
And dance you did like some possessed goddess
Twirling and spinning and throwing me about
Knowing this was what you had come here for
Without a doubt
To celebrate the betrothal of a good friend
To drink, yes, but to dance
In so doing to set yourself free
From the mundane, from family
From the fear of a life unraveling
And ultimately from me
© shaun patrick green 2011
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