Joy Ride for One

Palest of pink, my wedding dress,
your suit, the blackest of blacks.
They raised up our chairs above the rest,
you simply could not relax.

This journey was unfamiliar for you,
my Italian-Catholic boy.
But this is Tradition for a Jew
(I'm pretty sure I heard you scream "OY!")

I blew many kisses into the air
from my lofty perch.
You, Dear, white-knuckled the back of your chair
and felt each sway and lurch.

But now it's fifteen years later;
we have ridden every tide.
And still, there's no memory greater
than our exciting Wedding Day ride.