Getting Married, for Cynics

Here is a contract, upon which is written,

‘I hereby assent to give up the ambitions

I held in my youth, and, in truth, beyond then

Of being a hero, an artist, a drunk billionaire.

Can’t say how I’d achieve them, but still they were there

Because men will be boys, even when they are men.’

But that’s by-the-by, what I’m saying is I

Will put down those old notions, and put on a tie

And become one of those about whom I’d sneer

Back when I thought these tattoos were a fantastic idea.

So I’ll give you a ring, and you’ll give me a vow

That when you’ve heard every word that can fall from my mouth

And the grandiose gestures of romantic love

With boom-boxes in downpours and scavenger hunts

Become merely, ‘I love you.’ Words that are said

In a murmuring voice as I fall into bed

You won’t care. And in the spare moments before the day’s gone

You’ll ask how it went, and though my response

Is the same as on those that precede and replace it,

You’ll say: ‘But tell me again, because I like how you say it.’