In the yard,
you felt sorry for the slug
that crept so slowly up the stem
of one of your greens.
Poor thing,
it doesn’t even have a shell
to call a home.
Afterward,
I compared it with its cousin,
the snail, several of which will
gather in the garden
after an early morning rain –
sturdy,
in the swirly cave it carries
on its back,
a place to retract its head in
when it pours,
feigning it isn’t there, perhaps,
should a desperate, homeless mollusk
come to call,
knowing there isn’t
any room
for two,
and yet burdened
by that extra weight,
its inability to travel
wherever it may wish,
at its turtle-like, sloth-like pace,
like a car that’s always pulling
a camper/trailer,
never having the mettle
to face the world
when things get tough,
even ducking in its hovel
when there isn’t a cloud
in the sky.
Andreas Gripp
RF Image
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