The Cynical Priest

It took me over a year, but I finally corrected the typo in this poem: 'voice' to 'choice'. At a charming cathedral in the fair month of May Had a couple decided to wedding vows say, In the spirit of two who were fully aware Of the life they would have as a permanent pair The cynical priest was persuaded to bend To the terms of an ever more popular trend And to join them with words not from regular choice, But from too much experience, in his own voice: 'Do you take this woman to have and to hold When her breasts start to sag and her lips have gone cold, When her track suit inflates with developing pounds, And when with her browbeating your poor head resounds? 'To absorb every jibe from her friends and her kin, To with household anxieties cordon you in, And to aim to content you with leftover stew?' Said the smitten young bridegroom sincerely, 'I do' The priest rolled his eyes at the eager assent, Which the future would prove as mistakenly meant, But proceeded respectfully on to the next, Straying further and further from orthodox text: 'Do you take this fellow, for better or worse, To hear him persistently grumble and curse About how his boss heaps upon him demands Far exceeding the means of his only two hands? 'To watch him eat roughly and discharge foul gas, To stare at the tube and let whole ages pass, And to cleanse all his skivvies of fungus and goo?' Said the beautiful bride without flinching, 'I do' 'Then,' said the priest, 'with these rings' pressing weight, Now imprison yourselves to your harrowing fate, As the tears of this gathering rightly are shed, By the power of love, I pronounce you both dead'
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© 2007, 2015. Verses by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.