The Way of a Marriage

The way a marriage On the bus 8 to Garston, I met my future wife; I was going to meet someone at the British Legion, something about a job as a cook on a ship. At an outdoor, we bought cans of cokes and a bottle of rum. I thought she was the kindest woman; I had ever met. We married, and people I didn’t like came to our reception like my brothers-in-laws Dreams never last on cook’s wages, awake one morn no smell of coffee from downstairs; she had gone out and left a note: “Get a Job, you drunken slob!” I took a bus to Albert Dock, a ship going to Murmansk needed a cook, I didn’t hesitate, sign on Every morning made my own coffee and everyone else’s. I would still like to know if she when coming back from Garston’s shopping centre misses me.