Wedding Day Woes
not quite the day they imagined
The day that Miranda got married
(a match that her dad had forbidden)
she walked down the aisle with her Grandpa
and a bump that could hardly be hidden.
Her dress was a froth of white frilling,
like ice-cream with raspberry ripples,
her bouquet was pink and white roses,
her bodice just covered her nipples.
At the front of the church, George was waiting,
a ringing head caused by cheap wine,
and thanks to that 2 a.m. curry
a ‘ring of fire’ in his behind.
The vicar said: ‘Dearly Beloved,’
and started the wedding-day spiel;
he’d slippers on under his cassock
and breath like an elephant seal.
The mothers both sat in the front pews
each dabbing their eyes daintily,
but venomous glares to each other
led to a brawl in the marquee.
Now Mr. and Mrs. Cocksalmon
the newlyweds, looking bemused
were showered with rice and confetti;
the best man was sick on his shoes.
United were playing Southampton.
George, missing the Cup Final game,
took peeks on his phone during speeches,
and Grandpa was doing the same.
The disco was held at ‘The Woodman,’
the bride and groom had the first dance
she found out he’d been watching football;
squabbles do tend to stifle romance.
To marry in haste can be stressful,
the bright bloom of love quickly dies
when arguments start in the small hours
over who attends baby’s shrill cries.
