Slate the wedding for an outside afternoon
on the rolling lawn beside the cemetery.

She planned her next wedding for outside
on the lawn of the old cemetery,
thanked botox she looked like a young bride
and chewed chalk to caulk dysentery.

Her sisters donated their caldron
and assembled a boys’ choir of bats
who rehearsed a new medley of hearse songs
and looked smart in wingtips and spats.

The groom was a problem: she’d not one.
Getting knotted seemed out of her ken
though in all of her ages and aeons
she had potted and parboiled more men

than a vampire’s had dinners, and sinners
had figured in all of her tales.
Her horoscope said she’d find winners
among royals. She flew off to Wales.