My dear near-to-hearts, commoners and peers, miscreants, Cluniacs and other such habitués, the day of my wedding is every day. Let us be thankful for the long perpetually animate hands of John Berryman tweaking the guylines of his Pal, Mr. Bones. And let us hope that if he were here he might extend that glorious pallor of his index finger, that skeletal and elegant baton toward the podium to bless this union over here and other such wonders we’re sitting on.
Copyright @ 2014 by Ken White. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on May 7, 2014.