Apr 29
Updated: May 7
There were two grooms and no brides.
The ceremony was long and too full
of God the this, the that, and clergy
drag. I thought one groom was going
to have a laughing fit, but he didn’t.
Several times he didn’t, so it was either
good suppression or just the widest grin.
The other looked thoughtful, solemn.
Their mothers walked them down the plush
maroon carpet and seemed pleased
with the affair, rings, communion,
the lack of gowns and bridesmaids.
The Elgar and Saint-Saëns were tasteful,
as was “One Hand, One Heart,” the baritone’s
heart flying out of his mouth, his passion
filling the sanctuary.
There was dancing after a chicken dinner
and plenty of wine. Good thing to loosen up
after the God-glutted service; it gave me
hives. Kids and grooms and mothers danced
in various pairings, and many men danced
to most every song, the seeming favorite:
“It’s Raining Men.” I thought the 80s
and disco froth were back except
we were past prime now, this crew years
past pizzazz, past foraging for love, past
bellbottoms we wore once in the ignorant
glory of our free-range, unlimited lives.
Published in Chiron Review, no.96, Autumn 2011
James Kangas is a retired librarian living in Flint, Michigan. His poems have appeared in Atlanta Review, Free State Review, New World Writing, The New York Quarterly, The Penn Review, Tampa Review, Unbroken, et al. His chapbook, Breath of Eden (Sibling Rivalry Press), was published in 2019.