A Registry Office, it could have been anywhere,

but it happened to be there

at that appointed time with you,

a sluggish hour, in which

you confessed soon afterwards

on the train to Waterloo

and the promise of

cinema on that cold December night,

that you secretly had never loved me,

that up until the last minute

you had no intention of turning up

to our intended date and solemn vows.

You seemed surprised when years later,

finally as I cracked under the pressure

of the debt you left me

that I took you at your word

and left you

at the altar of a hallway

surrounded by the mess of your first words

to me as my wife.

Ian D. Hall 2017