A  Ceremony  of  Sorts

    The marriage  took a  cathedral, three
    vintage    Rolls     Royces,      four
    groomsmen,   four   bridesmaids    and
    one flowergirl  to  happen.  Fifty and
    more  friends  drank  until they  were
    falling   over   and    goosing    the
    waitresses.   The   next  morning   we
    were  on  the  cover  of   the  Sunday
    Times.
            Today  I sit with six sheets of
    official papers and read  instructions
    from the Do-It-Yourself  Divorce  Kit.
    It's too early to light the fire and I
    shiver.  Only  the  cat  lives with me
    now.  I  fill  out  the  forms slowly,
    stumbling   over   dates,   forgetting
    places.  I go to the kettle and cup my
    hands in  its  steam  -  a ceremony of
    sorts,  as  much  as this day  brings.

    A n d r e w  B u r k e

If you've any comments on his poems, Andrew Burke would be pleased to hear from you.