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.