It’s my turn to speak and I’m beginning to sweat
A quick read of my notes and I try not to fret
I say something sweet to my aunts; they’re old.
Thank the catering staff, my two grans, the Welsh fold.
My parents in law can’t be in the same room, I’ve been told.
The speech before mine was beginning to grind
It was unfunny, untrue, too long and unkind
I smile as I have all day been smiling
I tidy my speech cards for the millionth time.
Welcoming my guests as expected to is best
This is the easy part and I start to warm up.
It’s like acting,
Where I tell a joke and it’s witty because it has a fact in.
Brides don’t do speeches, but I have to, for my boys
Brides don’t do speeches but the groom’s left no choice.
Now, the punch line:
The silence is mine.
And I grip my cards harder because now it is time.
I mention the space below each chair.
“…In each space is an envelope that you need to tear open
because inside, there is proof.
It’s a gift to you all. I give you the truth.”
The cards fall from my hands and I leave the hall.
Now I am free.
Good luck to them all.