When The Time Was A Trial

When the time was a trial Woke up, the bedroom was cold under the duvet snugness I burrowed deeper enjoying the freedom of sleeping late. Life was hard, getting up at five and preparing breakfasts for grumpy seafarers smoking, the first cigarette of the day. The breaking of the fast was endlessly tedious, something with eggs and fatty meat. Sometimes when there was a gap between feeding times, say, dinner at twelve, I tried to write; my hands stank of chip fat. On hundreds of pages, "I'm a life I'm a life". I pretended I was a robot, what the body was going through the motion was not my concern; free to dream. When peeling potatoes one morning, I was suddenly awake Between fake brown gravy and spuds; there were no robots me all along the bed is warm, nothing can touch me now, touch me now! ! ! !