I keep hearing the old song in my head,
"I heard you're
getting married,"
the best thing for her,
but the worst thing that could happen to him.
Only now for you being a bride, as you point out,
ain't all it's
cracked up to be,
a human sacrifice to some inhuman god,
though I can imagine how magnificent
you must look dressed up in all white,
how sad an expression you wear with it,
like someone sentenced to a life term
in some lockup, a ring through your nose
or on your finger, as frustrated as a lion,
going stir crazy as you wait at home
for him (whomever that might be)
with pipe and
slippers and the drink
he'll need to get
over the pressures of work,
a perfect concubine expected to serve him.
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