Arm in arm at the altar, both of us wonder
if this marriage has a shot in hell:
what was I thinking—saying yes when I knew
you’re a treacherous rascal
whose proposal was more of a dare?
I’m the fish that got away, the untrappable fox
until you caught me unaware, looked into my soul
seduced me with a vision: all eyes on me
admiring, for a change
haters forced to admit
I’ve finally done something right.
But It’s making me nervous
how you reek with pride
and I sense your impatience
“Let’s just get this done”
as the nuptials drag on
despite our insistence that vows be reduced
to the basic We Do’s
both of us knowing details don’t matter
and “till death do us part” is a joke.
Anyway, if it falls apart
they can call us impetuous
call me a tyrant
call you a player
call us both immature
self-centered
and mentally unstable
but who knows—
we might learn to love one another.
It happens they say
and if it doesn’t, well
we’ll shrug, say we tried, and move on.
So toss the bouquet
bring on the photogs and videocams
and let’s record this thing for posterity.