‘Could you write us a poem for our wedding?’ they said.
‘But not like the ones that we found on the web:
not all weepy and twee,
full of hyperbole –
no, it should be classy instead.’
‘Sure,’ I replied, ‘so you want me to write
about love without being too trite?
So if it’s not magic,
can I make it tragic?
Then of course – it would be a delight.’
Cos love’s not about diamonds and waistcoats and rings:
real love’s about all of the everyday things.
It’s dying her hair,
then it goes everywhere,
and scrubbing your hands till it stings.
It’s picking him up from a night out in town
with the stinkiest, greasiest burger around.
It’s finding her hot
even though she is not
when she’s wearing a hospital gown.
True love is not posting your picture online
when you pass out from too many bottles of wine.
The feelings you feel
you know that they’re real
cos they go from your heart to your spine.
Love is pushing two earplugs deep into your brain
to drown out the snoring and not go insane.
It’s a ride on a jetski
and getting all wetski
and wanting to do it again.
It’s retrieving the horrors the doggies release;
it’s letting you watch awful trash on TV.
Love just grows deeper;
you know she’s a keeper
when she makes such good roasties for tea.
Now I said I’d be keeping this comical
but Steve and Georgie, your love’s astronomical.
All the things that go wrong
make you stronger than strong,
so today let’s bring on the next chronicle!