You can see, from the posed picture,
their future, in black and white.
This recorded Easter day -
when a course is set
and the ship of marriage
sails for open water -
will lead first to Greece
and a carefully-planned fortnight
of sun and soft-spoken words.
You can see, from his welders grin
above the new, dark suit,
that he is contented, steady
and careful with his life.
You can see that she is shorter,
pale-haired, gorgeous in white;
smiling only with her eyes,
her lips closed and tight,
revealing determination and plans.
He - largely - will provide,
but she will be the engine room of this union -
will budget, save and organise
and will form and shape their first small home
on a neat estate and bring them
their two beloved boys
and all that comes with children.
You cannot see the shadow;
the distant, wasting illness
that will leave her
debtless but alone.
The isolation of widowhood
will not suit her and
she will join societies, clubs
and learn new skills -
typing, macrame and the like.
But he will not - cannot -
be replaced by classes, strangers.
Despite the love of sons and friends,
and some solace when she kneels at pew,
I don't know yet how this all ends.
But I think I do.
Editor's note: Trevor has been our monthly feature
poet for many months now. We missed his works last month and are very
glad to have him back for this March 2002 issue and more to come in the