On the Bus to the Wedding
Ivor checking the pigeons are secure,
Joyce gathering a piece of Madeira cake,
popping it in the bread bin,
and then they catch the bus, 10.25 to Cardiff.
They love the ceremony’s stock loveliness,
the spouts of sentiment and hymnal,
and on to the reception.
This is Ivor and Joyce,
they’ve come from Abercynon on the bus.
How sweet, how very sweet ..
(…lived in our terraced house for fifty years,
Then Steve to John, We must remember, old boy,
that the markets won’t like this Budget.
Social advances are fine and dandy, of course,
but our leaders need a dash of realism sometimes.
Ivor and Joyce, now in their wall-seat eyrie loft,
but loving it, smiling at blank smiles, the bride,
the descent into drink, as the marriage of Don and Dawn
sets off on its voyage of thirteen years.
It’s going into March and Jeremy,
the history boy, is dreaming
of his Cambridge scholarship, of buildings,
stone’s wisdom and the man he met,
from Corpus Christi, who’d lived
in Marlowe’s room.
Denny, for uni too
(get a good job, of course, mumble, mumble),
dreams of the fizzing of dancehall lights,
the beer pumps’ reassuring depths.
Karen whirls like a vinyl record, spins
with Kinks and Mersey’s Pacemakers,
the future a haze to be wondered at,
but jabbed in dream by quirks and fears.
For Sarah, art.
Now. And next year, at Hornsea.
The paints, the easel, the mornings.
All of it. The now of art.
Robert Nisbet was for some years an associate lecturer in creative writing at Trinity College, Carmarthen. His poems have appeared in his Prolebooks pamphlet, Merlin’s Lane (2011), have been published widely in magazines in Britain, and in the USA in magazines like San Pedro River Review, Red River Review, Constellations and Main Street Rag. One of his short stories was featured in the Parthian anthology, Story II.