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.