He pootled into the foyer on a stolen golf buggy
generously dishing out a thumbs up to the concierge
before driving straight through the double-doors
into the wedding reception, where the bride
and groom had just taken to the floor
for the first dance. 'Stop the wedding!'
he quipped, dismounting with audible rip
of his checked trousers then lighting
a big doobie. 'I am a posterboy for
zany non-conformity,' he informed
the two constables as they dragged him
away, dappled with sick,
then a zephyr howled through the naked oak
and he trembled.
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