belz

What if you watch all but the last 30
minutes of My Best Friend’s Wedding, so
you don’t know who he ends up with—

or “up with whom he ends,” as it were—
does it matter? It is less a film, in any
case, than a parable of the good life

gone horribly better, with one too many
statuesque divas cavorting in and out
of Victorian doorways and filigreed

elevators, shushed bellhops and tailors
backing carefully out of frame, gala
proceedings only a handful of the millions

who’ve flocked to giggle at this flick
could come close to affording, and for what?
To descry, if distantly, men and women

so articulate and elegantly appointed
as to draw attention away from our so-called
lives, here, in the mud of clerical serfdom,

where nothing ever ends well, or in fact,
even ever ends. It just keeps going;
you don’t quite know what’s happening.

• • •

This entry was posted on Tuesday, November 22, 2016 at 11:28 am and is filed under 1.