I WOULD MARRY YOU

I WOULD MARRY YOU
(FOR KYLE)

I would marry you in the citrus state,
And the orange groves would lend their blessing.
I would marry you in Florida,
Teach Anita Bryant a lesson.

I would marry you in the state of the hanging chad,
And the dubious election,
Though I think in Florida gay is still bad,
Upon further reflection.

I would marry you in the streets of gay Paree,
Beside the Eiffel Tower,
And the French in all their nonchalance,
Would smile and shrug at our special hour.
Viva la difference alas is the motto there,
Marry me in Paris is now my fervent prayer.

I would marry you in London, in the shadow of Big Ben.
We could flaunt our civil union,
To our family and friends.

I would marry you in autumn in Vermont,
In a quaint little church in the verdant countryside,
I’d marry you in autumn in Vermont,
In a burst of Sunday pride.
And the colors they would applaud and scream,
The red, the gold, the orange leaves,
Would toast us on the village green.

I would marry you in Amsterdam, where the swans they mate for life,
The Amsterdammers indifferent like the French,
They would not care if I made you my husband or my wife.
The prostitutes would smile and wink,
And the locals would admire our moxy,
But if we clogged a main thoroughfare.
They’d insist on marrying us by proxy.
Still I am a proud gay man, my motto is I am what I am,
So damn the bicyclists to hell for a day.
And marry me in Amsterdam.

I would marry you in California,
And maybe we’d be lucky and it would stick,
I’m unaware our current status there,
It’s enough to make you seasick.
Still we could give it the college try
And tie the knot in our beloved San Francisco,
Forget all the wherefores and the whys,
And spend our honeymoon slathered in Crisco.

Or New York City, in Central Park, would be a happy marriage,
A ceremony held after dark, by candlelight and horse and carriage.
With Judy Collins our special guest to sing our wedding song,
Or anything she damn well wants, if she’ll just agree to join the throng.
I would marry you in New York City, I would marry you on Broadway.
Just get me to the church on time, and we’ll throw the biggest soiree.

I would marry you in Canada, as long as we can dodge the geese,
I would not want to be attacked by an angry bird with fleece.
But I’d marry you in grand Quebec, in Toronto or in Montreal.
Some of my best friends are Canadian, a fine folk all in all.
And whether we are married by a holy man or by a justice of the peace.
As long as we’re together, we can drink life to the lees,
I would marry you, I would marry you, any damn place you pleased.

I would marry you here in Virginia, if I only had the right.
But you’ll be too old and I’ll be too dead when our statehouse sees the light.
Virginia, it may be for lovers, but it’s just my intuition,
For heterosexuals only in the missionary position.

I would marry you most anywhere, but I’m broke and out of time.
I would marry you in a banquet hall, ornate and oh, so fine.
I would marry you in a fine museum, surrounded by beauty and great art,
But you’re all the beauty that I need, the grand Picasso in my heart.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED