By The Glass

The air was sweet

with lilies and forced smiles,

a polished, rented beat

that went on for miles.

Champagne flutes clinked,

a thin, high sound,

as vows were inked

and happiness crowned.

But by the buffet,

past the tiered cake,

the father stood astray,

a smile his face would make.

He watched the first dance,

but his eyes were elsewhere,

a vacant, distant glance,

a quiet kind of care.

The boutonnieres drooped,

petals starting to fall,

as the joyful crowd swooped,

unaware of it all.