The wedding goers run to spread,
Middle-grooved, life-burnt, ambitions pinched.
They remember you reed-like, proud.
The tallest, the thinnest, the broadest of smiles.
Twin souls, all that gaff which you too
No one knew how compromise was already sewn tight
In hems, cross-stitch of last chances,
Loosely looped into seconds
Your glamorous wasp waist
The twigs snapped soon and dropped
In dismayed defeat, booted into the mud.
What do Facebook pictures of gappy, goofy children show
Other than absence of parents.
Friends sigh and shuffle
Blame quivering dull like blancmange
To be appointed, swallowed whole,
Perhaps even digested.