The Marriage

The hotel room in St. Asaph (Wales), was damp and smelt of spent body passion, I didn’t have a coin for the gas metre; in the decomposing bed a woman Snored, and from the depth of my soul the beginning of an anguished scream. the morning was ashen as my face and find drizzle fell. The hotel bar was closed, I walked for bone aching for miles while the heaven descended. Apocalypse Now! No such luck, when the clouds parted the hills where green with grazing sheep on. Dear God, where were you yesterday when I married a scullery maid, have you no mercy.