Grandmothers at a Wedding
The bride was sweet, the groom was an unknown entity.
Not old enough to be married, she was barely twenty.
I protested all the way to the church, my cries unheard.
My husband told me to settle down, not be a nerd.
But she’s a baby, I protested. She cannot bake or cook.
Time to teach her, he told me, and gave me that look.
She was my granddaughter, a beauty, and not educated yet.
She had no pots or pans, just some posters, and a spoiled pet.
What does he see in her? I asked. She’s not grown, not ready.
His name was Frederick, but his side called him Freddy.
He’s a baby! His grandma protested from the row beside me.
I pretended not to hear, but snorted, secretly laughing in glee.
We met at the reception, and got along great, two old ladies fair.
She’s adorable she said. I especially love her gorgeous blonde hair.
He’s a prince, I told her in a reciprocally wonderful way.
Two fast friends finding each other on their wedding day.
Now we share great-grandchildren, and we are extremely happy.
To give them back to their parents. We have both become sappy.
Date: Feb 24, 2020
Contest: Occasional Poetry
Sponsor: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2020
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