Nearly still, small yet long, always wet,
Stuck fast to glass, turning slowly, slowly
toward the rotting pear.
Tiny eyes, swaying on antennae:
delicate black beads,
slumping down to scan the fruit.
Slick body convulsing in gentle waves,
each small movement coaxing
an unremarkable glide
a slow, controlled slide.
At the bottom of the jar,
the snail feasts.
Tag: snail
Snabitat
Water droplets on plastic
A carrot
A piece of cuttlebone
The snail I found in an apple crate
Seems to be doing alright
In the habitat I set up for him.
It has been nice to have something to take care of
While I wait for my third mental health assessment
And try to decide what to tell them.
Semi-employed at a fruit stand
Previously over-employed at two service jobs
My slow days come at a cost;
You can only claim so much welfare.
The snail gets what she needs
Because I like to watch her glide around.
If only I could glide similarly
And hang upside down from a plastic lid.
Maybe someone would give me carrots and fruits
And spritz me with water twice a day.
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