I was sailing along the coast of Greenland the sea was
as green as empty Port Wine bottles when
a storm struck it was a fully automatic boat I batted down
the hatches went below fastened the seat belt and wait.
Before I knew it, I was in a tranquil bay in Portugal and made
breakfast scrambled and bacon, but I was vaguely unhappy
everything has become so automatic that adventures of
daring do had become an everyday occurrence the vessel
had even found the best anchorage with
the best view.
I sold the boat to a doctor who had dreamt a seafaring life
away from hospitals and nagging wife, as a child he had
wanted to be a car mechanic but his parents wouldn`t hear
about it nor his fiancé; a malcontent man who was about to
discover the boredom on the high sea.
I bought a mule that cannot be trusted it doesn`t like people
and every morning it is a struggle to get it to move forward
when I plough my little patch of land