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.