Romesh Dissanayake
If I get married
I’ll get married in a church
’Cause that’s what you want
The old wooden pews at St Peter’s
I’ll have you, if you’ll have me
Cue: organs and fanfare
Throw rice and flowers and cans on
Leo’s old limousine from the ‘90s
It’ll be a ball
But don’t worry what else
We could have spent the money on
(Tools for the shed, heat pump,
More succulents)
(Etc, etc)
Just pretend it’s Fiji, baby
Ah gawd, the priest is going to make jokes
Ah gawd, I’m going to have to not cry
Prob will cry
My masculinity slipping
Should wear that belt
I brought from the States
With the big buckle
Make a big statement
And who will cater?
Sausage rolls or …?
Salmon as an option!
Option of three!!
No options : (
If that’s what you want
This marriage thing
These pew bums
These formal pants
And tight collars
And I don’t mind but
Just want to let you know
Mum will probably wear
Something like a limp
Swan around her neck like black isn’t
Menacing, isn’t
Foreshadowing
Under these circumstances
I’ll do the dance
I’ll smile as I’m trying
To hold it all in
Don’t I get a wee break?
To duck out
To see Tim and Kieran and James
Sometimes I sneak
Out and do chores when we fuxk
And basic arithmetic
Over reruns of Friends
Oh, the places I’ve been
The things that I …
But I’ll say my bit
And play with the kids
On child safety
Mode signing the treaty
Diana’s bloodshot eyes
Old purse on her lap
Dave sighing
Hand over shoulder
Dusty I’ll-make-you-proud dad-suit
Our parents
Sparring perspiring
What’s your sister’s husband’s name again?
I get a weird vibe from them
Weird commune vibe
Kāpiti Coast vibe
(Jessuschryst just comb the boy’s hair, Margaret)
But I’ll do it for you
I’ll make a raise-your-glass toast
I’m not nervous but numb
If I get drunk, I’ll fall on my bum
And spin aunty Susan
Like a carrot
And soup my sleeves
And say nothing and spend
All the time in the bathroom
Using the hand dryer
As a clothes dryer
Forsaking
Faith leaps and pamphlets
And presents
And cake
but
if it was me
if i could suggest …
i say
we find a horse
with a patina mane
braid it with mussels
that clunk in the wind
and my penis would be
the size of the pacific
and you, luce, could backstroke
and we’d slip into
creamed-apricot sunsets
on egg yolk inflatables
everything’ll be peachy
custardy even
this time, this way
no aunties, no organs
just shapes and sizes
forms and iterations
i’d dip my feet
grow out my hair
fashion a moustache
fashion a house
and like flounder frames
and karengo
splintered and drifting
we’d sway and say
fuxk ceremony
no hexes
