The Wedding

Stretched against the satin,
her ample bottom grinds.
My aunt tries to shimmy
to slide, to unwind.
She mouths your words when you speak
and she elongates her vowels.
Her comic northern tones
get even louder when she howls.
A battery of chickens
fill the rest of the floor,
flap their elbow wings
throw glances to the door.
Tables filled with guests
sip their overpriced wine
make polite conversation
faking their ‘good’ time.
Polite claps at dinner,
anxious laughter at the speech,
for some a distant memory now
the alcohol’s made its reach.
And the bride sits in a corner,
a statue in a pose
mere traces left of earlier
when she so elegantly glowed.
Now she seems diminished,
a flash of worry meets her eyes
as she realises to her wedding day
she’ll now have to bid goodbye.