Woke up in a cold hotel room, in winter cold Wales
didn’t have coins for the gas heater
and it wasn’t quite morning yet.
Beside me, in the semi darkness
the outline of a woman’s sleeping face,
Mohammed Ali hit me in the solar plexus
woke up at count nine
when the referee was nailing my hands to the floor.
Hazily recalled a wedding reception
where I was the groom holding on to a table full of food and booze.
Why did she had to marry me,
didn’t she see that I was drunk?
Confused and bleeding I got up off the floor, dressed,
went down to the bar
and since no one was there
pulled myself a pint of lager
planning how to get out of that one.