I had written one poem, but I wanted something a little more upbeat, so wrote this on the day of the gathering, finishing it half an hour before I left home.
Oh, and it's not a true story!
My Favourite Holiday
I would not argue with my wife
as she was one to hold a grudge.
It simply was not worth the strife
for when proved wrong she would not budge.
Facts did not matter in her view
and when they contradicted her
a stubbornness inflicted her;
you saw her eyes and then you knew.
And that is why I let things slide
and let my darling have her way,
and it worked fine, ‘cept when my bride
would come back from our holiday.
She’d leaf beforehand through brochures
to find the place where we would go;
the final choice was always hers
and when she’d made it I would know.
Some naff resort, hotel she’d choose
and each year it would be the same
and each year I would take the blame;
it wasn’t worth it to refuse.
I’d take it with a pinch of salt
and marvel how her mem’ry blurs.
Of course it had to be my fault
because, of course, it wasn’t hers.
Eventually I’d had enough –
that Chinese water torture thing;
incessantly that slagging off,
the prospect next year’s trip would bring.
I’d need to bring it to an end;
this annual apology –
I’d need to use psychology
to get my way and not offend.
By chance I found a magazine
that fit in with her fantasy
as Johnny Depp upon the screen,
he was her fav’rite man to see.
A Caribbean cruising ship
set up to have a pirate theme,
and when she caught sight of this trip
I’d got it right, it was her dream.
Last minute I said “I can’t go,
as Work has this emergency.”
“I’ll go there on my own,” said she,
whilst giving me the old heave-ho.
It’s been two years since off she sailed
Towards the Car-ib-be-an Sea
It isn’t that our marriage failed
The ship sank there. It wasn’t me.
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