"Snail"
Languid rambler,
your body’s an occluded tongue
too obstinate to shove off.
Have you never learned urgency?
It crosses my mind when I’m weeding,
a dull subterfuge of color
endangers you as I turn
dirt with crooked prongs.
It crosses my mind when I see you
lugging that load on your back,
you’re such a stupid uncle, too stuck
to budge. Hobbled by a homemade
shackle, such stubbornness
spurs the children to perversity.
It’s your house they covet, half
inheritance, half handicraft.
Desperate to evict you,
they have to be dissuaded.
Crawl off, or draw within;
you’ll never cross the garden.
© 2008 Sarah J. Sloat
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