Poles and rods reach over and up,
a spider web of iron.
All reach toward a focal point, that flag
with stars.
The skyline is made shorter
by the loss of twins, an empty gap
in a crowd of buildings.
Tiaras and veils march across the bridge.
A man wears a wedding dress,
his partner carrying the train behind him.
Signs like “Marriage is love” and
“We all deserve the freedom to marry”
are held high, gripped tightly
when the wind gets fierce.
This may be the only chance
for some of us to wear
these frilly wedding costumes,
to carry these props of bouquets.
Old men with egos determine our value,
set restrictions, lay down laws.
No formalwear for you.
Bouquets are tossed up to blue sky.
The backdrop for this scene has a missing piece.
It has been replaced by something different.
Paranoia and prejudice fill the gap
in the skyline.