Sunday, March 22, 2009

The Fabulous Fabians


The Fabulous Fabians
Were married at four
Under a huppah at the
Waldorf-Astoria
A priest and a rabbi
Gave God a nod
There were four hundred people
Some from abroad.

She was a debutante
Catholic and cute
He was a scion
Old wealth to boot
They met down in South Beach
By chance in a bar
They planned the best
New York wedding so far.

They smiled, so in love
And recited their vows
He stumbled a bit
But recovered somehow
And when it was over
Tradition took root
He stomped on the wine glass
With an oversize foot.

The orchestra played
New York's finest song
Then some Sinatra
They all danced along
'Til well after midnight
And into the morn
The Fabians left
Just after dawn.

They slept in the limo
On the way to the plane
She dreamt of her beauty
Her dress and her flame
He dreamt not at all
But when he awoke
He was nervous and sorry
That he no longer smoked.

They flew off to Cancun
For fun on the beach
She slept on the plane
Laying next to his cheek
He wondered what happened
Was he really so dumb
She'd probably want kids
His brain was going numb.

His father-in-law thought
He could do nothing wrong
And paid him a fortune
His work was so strong
The city had praised him
His vision, his nerve
For the building of grandeur
It was praise well-deserved.

Why are you distant
She wanted to know
You seem so uptight
Just go with the flow
The honeymoon's over
He wanted to say
I loved you last night
I'm not sure today.

She grabbed his hand and
They went to a club
She held him close
They danced rub-a-dub
She told him she loved him
More than he'd know
And she'd loved the wedding
A magnificent show.

One week to the day
They flew back to New York
She went to parties
He went to work
They passed in the hall
Of the townhouse he built
Neither were bothered
By feelings of guilt.

He was quite happy
The way things worked out
She didn't cry
Or whimper, or shout
His girlfriend was smart
And sexy and free
His life was all that
He hoped it would be.

Then on a dull
And dark winter day
He got a package
From Fox, Foreman and Gray
Attorneys they were and
Were letting him know
His sweet debutante
Was delivering a blow.

It did seem a shame
That it ended so soon
But for him the rose
No longer bloomed
The pain in his heart
He'd get over in time
The pain in his wallet
For that he would pine.

The last that he heard
She'd opened a store
For French lingerie named
Oolala! And More!
He lived on the beach
And nickeled and dimed
Took tourists fishing
One day at a time.

Now back in New York
If they remember at all
They say she was cute
They say he was tall
And wasn't it sad
Their love didn't last
The fabulous Fabians
Are fading quite fast.

Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved


2 comments:

Juergen Kuehn said...

"They slept in the limo
On the way to the plane
She dreamt of her beauty
Her dress and her flame
He dreamt not at all
But when he awoke
He was nervous and sorry
That he no longer smoked."

That's my favorite vers, Jacob, of this great quindecim epigramma.

Jacob said...

Thank you, Juergen, for reading the whole thing.

It's a satire, I suppose of what is often the vapidness and vacuousness of modern life...

Peace, my friend, and have a great day!