Poetry: Bad Timing

Broken, his face
As it careened slowly
Through the room,
Arriving, perfectly
In front of my eyes.

To me, was his grief.
Failing to complement his tux,
under the soft lights
Of matrimony.

My face, struck dumb and frozen
In a mold of admiration.
It’s terribly out of place and doesn’t
quite fit the situation.

I know what he’s to say before
My body can change its countenance.
He opens his mouth, and my greatest
Fear falls out, flopping in front of me
Like a fish in its last fight.

My eyes float to the floor, and
I consider, carefully, the events
of the night.
How did he find out and, tell me,
Why does it matter?
It’s been so long since last summer.

I’ve come to the conclusion,
maybe a little late, that it’s all bad timing,
Someone call the caterer, tell him it’s over,
to get out, but leave the cake.


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