the grooms looking good
as he zooms in on a bridesmaids fleshy bits
a last minute doubt
in mid life
his fidget fits are indicative
as he takes a last hit of freedom
and dips into the collection
of a Friday nights repetitive stag
replays a memory of a classic shag pile carpet
good enough to write home about
a secret to remain at the alter
dares to look in the vicars eyes
justifies his is close shave infidelity
with the thought that he is superman
a duty to re seed the world
the meaningless  words of the vows
wash over in tempered waves
unlike the ensuing rows he predicts
he does it to please
yet still gets his kick on the side
he will always play away
like a sultan in his palace of plenty
and stood all innocent in the aisle
under the heavenly spotlight of a stained glass mile
itches the knee of burba carpet burn
reckons he’s got his bread buttered both sides
top and bottom
as he settles into top hat and tails
I can hear his internal wails of protest already