the summer wedding

the wedding was long.
three people
fainted, hitting their
heads
on the wooden pews
in front of them.
the bride and groom
read their own hand
written vows,
to love and to cherish.
to never lie
or cheat, or hide
the remote, to always
be nice and available
for romance.
to turn off their cell
phones at dinner time.
they brought their dogs,
and assorted
children from other
marriages.
people sang, there was
a juggler.
a magician.
a tent was pitched outside
where a pig turned
slowly on a spit.
someone's aunt
made melon balls.
the vows went on and on.
till death do we part,
or sooner if it doesn't work
out. children cried.
children were born.
old people grew older
in their seats
sagging in the summer
heat like wilted flowers
in their new
dresses.
finally, the couple said I do,
rings were slid onto fingers.
there was applause and deep
sighs of relief.
the lime green bridesmaids,
blushing with rouge
and grooms in ill fitted
suits wiped their brows
with rented sleeves.
the music played on and on
as they left in a shower
of brown rice and bird
seed. then finally
you went out to get your
black and decker toaster oven
from the car
to put it in the tent
with the other gifts
stacked high.