Category: Truth

His name was John
but everyone called him Jack
she was Margaret
but answered to Peg –
Jack and Peg
names from before The Beatles
and not after
names,
as long ago as Vietnam
as far back as Dallas
as faded as Apollo.

Jack practised law
Peg kept their house,
one of two.
For 48 weeks they lived in careful affluence
comfortable villa and garden
in a better,
but not best part of town –
the fulcrum of commerce
what judgement sees
evidence of success … avoidance of excess.

And for one month each summer
their cottage by the lake
distant and remote
no electricity,
water from the roof
an outhouse in the bush – for an outhouse.

“Marvellous,” Jack extolled
“back to nature,” before retro nature was fashionable
paraffin lamps
kerosene stove
a bucket for a bath, but Jack said, who needs a shower
when you’ve got the lake.

Heaven on earth Jack said
said that they loved it
adored the solitude
and the simplicity
had to be dragged away when the time came.

When Jack died a friend visited
condolence knew that life would be different
yes said Peg
“I’ll never have to go to that bloody cottage ever again.”

Tall and blonde, the all Californian girl
men loved her, women were envious.
Always chosen
life was easy, grace or charm redundant
beauty gave automatic entry,
even when almost inaccessible.
Rejection, a distant image
badly focused and easily clicked away.

A cool look awarded intelligence
which may, or
may not have been
confirmation never asked
or required
scrutiny escaped with ease
her life the median – standard, no deviation.

Truth should be acknowledged
she sometimes induced envy
or disdain
perhaps because she belonged to a group I never had –
those who are always included
people,
for whom chance is never slim.

Time has diluted venom and dilated eyes
compassion, slow to form, now understands
she never quite grew up
didn’t ever leave a child’s need to be liked.

We are early of course
lateness sometimes tolerated, frequently excused
today unpardonable, safety margin greater than normal
the groom is already there. Standing outside. Beaming.

He looked as a child does
on the last morning of school
before the long, long summer holidays
that feeling of last day abandon better,
than new day belonging.

The bride de rigueur late
her groom beams
and pays no mind
a long, fly fish courtship
patience has waited and waited. He can wait some more.

Corinthians is read. Chapter and verse
Love is defined
the minister adds concurrence
vows exchanged
the bride permitted to be kissed. The groom beams

Champagne amidst the scents of apprenticed summer
the precocious yearnings of flowers
grass becoming hay
high dried dust. The groom beams.

Speeches are spoken
toasts toasted
tiered cake cut
photographs store the present, for the future. The groom beams.

The sun softens from white to yellow
to butterscotch
a vintage convertible transports the couple to Utopia
the groom beams. Has he ever been this happy?

Once.
The same day
a different decade
a different bride
a different ending. Hopefully.