A Wedding

There were two grooms and no brides.

The ceremony was long and too full

of “God” the this, the that, and clergy

drag. I thought one of the grooms

was going to have a laughing fit but

he didn’t. Several times he didn’t

so maybe it was just a wide grin. Their

mothers walked them down the plush

red carpet and seemed rather pleased

with the affair, the communion, the lack

of gowns and bridesmaids. The Elgar

and Saint-Saëns were tasteful, as was

“One Hand, One Heart,” the baritone’s

heart flying out of his mouth, his

passion filling the sanctuary.

There was dancing after a chicken

dinner, and plenty of wine. It was good

to loosen up after the God-glutted

service which gave me hives. Kids

danced and the grooms’ mothers danced

with the grooms and their friends,

and many men danced to almost every song,

one of which was, of course, “It’s

Raining Men.” The good old days

when I hated that sort of disco froth

were almost back, except we were twenty-

five years past our youth and pizzazz,

past fitting into our old butt-hugging

bellbottoms, our once free-range,

unlimited lives.