A Bride On The Edge - by Martin Richmond

My father's arm is rock steady, my dress is streaked with mum's tears.

My father's arm is rock steady, my dress is streaked with mum's tears
The aisle before me is like a beach, strewn with the driftwood of my fears
I'll get it right
I'll take my time
This is my wedding, not a pantomime
 
My dad's waistcoat is much too tight, but he's grand in his monkey suit
This do cost him an arm and a leg, by tonight he'll be relaxed as a newt
I'll get it right
I'll take my time
This is my wedding, not a pantomime
 
See all the backs of their heads, lined up in the wooden pews.
Waiting no doubt for me to trip, just so they can blame the booze.
I'll get it right
I'll take my time
This is my wedding, not a pantomime
 
Just a few feet more and they'll stop, playing that sad, mournful tune
I hope this isn't a bad omen, the minister's humming High Noon
I'll get it right
I'll take my time
This is my wedding, not a pantomime
 
All the hassle just melts away, when I gaze deep into his eyes
These aren't just words I speak, they are ribbons around my prize
I've got it right
I've got the time
This is our wedding, not a pantomime

THE END. (or the beginning?)

By Martin Richmond
Falkirk, Scotland

This poem was selected as a runner-up of a nationwide poetry competition run by Marriott Hotels in March 2011.



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