Funeral for the Father of the Bride
Flip the bouquets, swap the black ribbon
for white lace, gin up the organ some,
loosen your tie a little and holler
new hymns to the choir. Rose petals’ll smile
just as well as wilt.
The minister’s worth his salt: tragedy shimmers
into joy in the blink of an eye. Do you? Do you?
Stand and clap at the kiss–the old man won’t roll,
from his vantage he knows the tears do double-duty.
Afterwards, out on the green lawn, toast him under
and the new couple to a long and happy life,
God-willing. Shake the warm hands around you,
swap stories of the young and the dead. Wear a tread
in the dance floor, savoring your brief moment
with the shinning bride. Drink deep of the wine,
see them off at last light in a shower of rice and light.
On the long walk back, hum a funeral dirge in the dark,
at home in your one good suit.