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In black and white and shades of grey,
They stand there, the dicky bird watching few.
The groom in the ill fitting demob suit, shoes polished with spit.
The bride, voluptuous in white brocade clutching the fading blooms.
Her father, proud, reluctant to smile, relinquishing loving care of his little girl.
Best man, a real rocker, with dark flirting eyes, slicking back black hair.
Two young girls, pretty book ends to the nuptial scene,
Short skirts and coiffured hair, clutching flower strewn prayer books in gloved palms.
I am there, the only one left standing, remembering little of that day.
But how I hated that PINK dress.
The wedding of my brother in 1960.
Micheal Wolf Mar 2013
With due diligence she completes her task
Her fluorescent pen working flat out
Multi coloured no less adding importance
Then staples bashed and ready to go
There seems now a delight in her work
Demob happy counting down the days
Tearing the days of the desk diary
September will be here soon enough
I then imagine her retirement writing labels
Plants with little tags in the garden
Jars neatly stacked, labels all compliant
A new found order to disorder
An organised mind conquering the world
Grandma said
that the Germans dropped incendiary bombs on the green, during the war, but Grandad joined up and told her, I'll give 'em what for and off he went back bent from years in the pit and then the army went and straightened him up a bit,
he came back ramrod stiff
medals on his chest and
remembering the coal dust on his vest
he asked
do I have a change of clothing 'Pet'
'Pet' was a term of endearment

his demob suit was hung in the wardrobe
and his Homburg was retrieved from the closet

they closed the casket at the closing of his day
and Grandma's memories faded away as she faded too.
I believe that I'll reach my peak next Tuesday at three.

Oh wouldn't that be cute?
some aeons old geezer in a grey demob suit
tripping over the light fantastic.

In the real World which is flat if you believe pancakes
or pixies, someone picks these pearls of wisdom and restrings lyres with them.

In this house of harpies he's at home on the sea
but they steal his food and he's constantly hungry,
I pray to
Zeus who's of no use at all,
but next Tuesday at three and at my peak
Zeus will see just who is what and where.

— The End —