A Whetted, Wedded Monk Fish. Poem by Michael Gale

Crested waves slapped me upon the headily right...
Temp-led fashioned wetly a fright, that night.

Hurricanes recaptured...
Made my hips well fractured.

Now I walk with a limp...
All my pockets overflowing
with sardines and shrimp.

Inside the wharf's pub had I entered....
To consummate a dizzying, alcohol's
inward mouthy breathing.

Hangover's trips....
Blamed on too many sips.

I forgot my wedded anniversary...
Should this qualify me as totally, self centered?