Juxtaposition

I – at the table to the left

She watches him with mock puppy eyes as he eats, he looks at her with a knowing look… “You want some…eh?”

She half nods/half shrugs. Her eyes glint with coy mischief.

He sighs…the sweet burden of silly annoyances… He cups the rice and mixes it up in all the different curries and feeds her a mouthful. Smiling at her silly game…her unbridled joy…

II – just across the room

The Bride looks intently at her food. So interested in its colors, its textures, how it gleams, how much can be scooped up daintly on a spoon. How much can go in her mouth without smudging the fade proof lipstick.
She smiles plastic to herself.

The groom’s face is stormy and petulant. He sits turned away from her. Rigid. Unrelenting. His heaping plate awaits beside hers.

The photographer looks from bride to groom…groom to bride… He rubs his hair in fustration.

The second photog and videographer exchange brooding glances. Their eyebrows shoot up in sync…their mouths sardonic yet grim.

The photographer, chuckles hard… His voice strained/pitched:

“Heh, ha, ha… Ok…Let’s go now… Come on then” he prods.

He lets out an angry sigh into his shoulder pressing his face hard against his camera strap.

I need the damn shot of them feeding each other… They’ll ask for it later like it’s all my fault for not getting it.

the un-rebel

no kind words
await the ill-honoured
un-rebel.

no praise, or applause
or laurels are
deserved by he.

a lament, a tirade
a lengthy convoluted complaint
are better suited for
he who plays the role
of the nonchalant saint.

all his passiveness
filled in neatly
into whatever space
pride left
when it was
scooped out
and left to simmer
in indignity.

a doormat is he
yet the stomp-trampling feet
leave tainted and dirty.

an odd duck perhaps?
befuddled about which
pious path to choose?

no,
just callous
and quiet
and with
nothing to lose.