The Wedding Fair

Rollup! Rollup!
Come on down  to the wedding fair.
25 euro per  person
or free with a voucher . . .
How many vouchers did you want?

The wedding uniforms were hanging,

all in the same shade of ivory
as many an endangered species,

and the sweetheart bodices, suspended emptily

in rows, waited for the press of human flesh.

They hang on rails, above a black and white
cow skin rug.

Poor cow!

One image fits all;

customisation and fitting
is by the addition of diamantes,
and dieting.

The A la Carte shoppers
stroll down the aisles 

gathering brochures on silent discos

and ukulele bands.

Clip board competitions  

troll for details,

while ceremonies are written,

hen parties organised, but

cock-nights are never mentioned.

Photo albums and fruit cakes, 

LOVE everywhere;

invitation cards, place cards,
balloons and cartoons,

James and Michelle,

Robert and Mary,

no Jack and John,

Mary and Millicent . . . yet.

I timidly point out the one stall

with man-suits for a thousand euro.

and am greeted with absolute disbelief,
'No way! Ripoff!'

Yet again,
I am reminded that men are here

only by invitation,
and the willingness of women
to bear the burden.
© niall oconnor 2015