I feel I must tell you about something that happened
Long before we met when I was swallowing
small fishes in the capacity of The Official
Taster in an insignificant sardine factory.
It was sometime in the early morning
When the others had returned with their mosquito nets
Bulging full of glistening life
And their tired faces reflected the impossible strain
of a night-long apostolic vigilance.
It was sometime after the morning meal of
Eggs, bacon, cheese and old oat bread.
It was sometime after the boats were washed.
It was sometime long after that.
It was . . . .
Quite unforgettable.