As Is Custom

A corpulent wind of change blew

across my doorstep

and the fantastic 

Nigerian groom

opened my heart's eye 

to the spaces around 

my ego, my tower, 

my force of ire.

I blinked and heard again 

the muddy space beneath my feet

urge splodgy recrimination for

my dank 

hollow shell 

of international colour;

each¦breaking¦ free¦

to fly from depths 

charged with darkness;

unlike the dapper groom's 

multicoloured suit;

in which stood a moment's glorious moth

- and magnanimous too, 

had he seen the desperation 

in the globe of my eye -

And if ever I do read this aloud 

I will not hesitate

or pull a sicknote on this or that line,

but forever stand over all as much 

as I am bowled over, by

the joy felt outside a registry office

somewhere in the world - who cares where

and you know what - the bride is late:

as is custom. . .