(a flip through BRIDE's) <br /> <br />The silver spoons <br />were warbling <br />their absurd musical names <br />when, drawing back <br />her veil (illusion), <br /> <br />she stepped into <br />the valentine-shaped bathtub, <br />& slid her perfect bubbles <br />in between <br />the perfect bubbles. <br /> <br />Oh brilliantly complex as <br />compound interest, <br />her diamond gleams <br />(Forever) on the edge <br />of a weddingcake-shaped bed. <br /> <br />What happens there <br />is merely icing since <br />a snakepit of dismembered <br />douchebag coils (all writhing) <br />awaits her on the tackier back pages. <br /> <br />Dearly beloved, let's hymn <br />her (& Daddy) down <br />the aisle with <br />epithalamia composed <br />for Ovulen ads: <br /> <br />'It's the right <br />of every (married) couple <br />to wait to space to wait' <br />-& antistrophes <br />appended by the Pope. <br /> <br />Good Grief-the groom! <br />Has she (or we) <br />entirely forgot? <br />She'll dream him whole. <br />American type with ushers <br /> <br />halfbacks headaches drawbacks backaches <br />& borrowed suit <br />stuffed in a borrowed face <br />(or was it the reverse?) <br />Oh well. Here's he: <br /> <br />part coy pajamas <br />part mothered underwear <br />& of course <br />an enormous prick <br />full of money.<br /><br />Erica Jong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/here-comes/
