Thursday 29 September 2022

Something completely different ...

I wrote this poem a while ago, and was reminded of it this morning when I came downstairs to the kitchen...

The slug slime trail on the rug in the kitchen in the morning (and where it may lead you)

Nasty little mangy mucus monster

spent the night silently creeping around

spreading its sticky superhighway secretions far and wide.

Now a long twisting trail of its silvery slime

shines on the fibres of the blue kitchen rug

like jewelled frost against brilliant morning sky.

 

Except, I think ... how they sloop in the sink

slipslide across worktops

fill gaps with their sloppy gloop

slather gunk down walls

slick gory gunge over cupboard doors

and spread squishy snot over tiles, until ...

 

They sense their mate

follow the slippery scent of goo

to find each other

where they secrete their slime-cords,

 

twist and mingle mucus to hold them

 

in sexual congress.

 

Conjoined in a cosy slushy gastropod cocoon

 

they hang the night together

 

in hermaphrodite heaven.


 

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