making do

on the eve of his wedding he phoned to say that he wished it
was you walking down the isle.

twenty-five years later (for you and your friends) this still
seems a sin of dishonesty against his bride now wife.

I admit that twenty-five years of watching his moody turns
lends more credibility to this - than a contrarian
notion of mine that he was acknowledging
a peculiar mix of rational sadness.

the comfort of days marked by modest affection
which characterizes
(holds the hope of)
a good marriage.