the white dress

the whole pig, on the spit,
no longer pink, but a soft
crusted brown
was cooked too long, the sun
was out.
flies were everywhere.
the wedding cake and desserts
were under a tent,
melting, getting soft
and runny, like broken eggs.
the salads, warming
in bowls, were sealed with plastic wrap,
ladles stuck inside.
the bride and groom were happy though,
glimmering with hope,
despite their ages,
their children from other marriages
rolling their dark eyes.
the sun was too high.
they couldn't get the music to play.
the cord too short from the house.
people were drinking too fast,
refilling their glasses
with wine and gin. shooing flies
with napkins
and rolled up programs from the church.
you wanted it to rain,
you wanted it too pour
in biblical proportions,
but there was nothing but blue
in the sky, expect for
the white sun beaming down
on the white tent,
the dried out pig, spinning slowly
over a wood fire, which
everyone, hungry now,
had gathered around, and
the white dress of the bride.