Church Wedding

My friend married the other night
In a church still on its feet.
I was planning not to go,
Not wanting to be seen alone,

But when I arrived
I was happy to be free,
Unfettered,
While he was being bound.

My friend is of English descent,
You know, red hair
And the last name—Billingsgate—
To prove it.

I think he’s closer to true love
This time than the last, when his ex
Ran off with the drummer man.
At the reception a woman said

She had danced with me
Eight years before
At wedding number one.
Under that mass of tumbleweed grayness

A child, wanting temporarily
What her friend the bride had got.
For a while we were going great,
But then she had to catch me

When I wasn’t there.
That may be when she frowned
And said goodbye,
Hours before she left.

April 2003