We had to go back
to the beginning
to find a reason
why the marriage
never took, and
there it was, rooted
in the garden where
we mouthed our vows
beneath a prop plane
rented by old flames.
The plane circled noisily
above, our exes
yelling: Don't, and
Do me instead,
a ruckus that meant
we never really heard
the justice of the peace
or what we promised.
It turns out my mate
was saying: I'll love you
until intermission.
I swore: I'll darn
your socks until I don't.
Our past loves up
in the prop plane
could see the mistake
we were making.
If only they'd chosen
a helicopter, hovering
low enough to blow
fresh air into our brains,
we might have called it
quits before beginning.
But weddings happen
and unhappen, and my
unbethrothed and I
live happily un-after.
--- From Kentucky Derby
Andrea Cohen
©2011 Salmonpoetry
Cliffs of Moher
County Clare
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