The snail upon my bathroom window,

I have no idea how you got there,

for did you fall from grace

or seagull’s beak, for surely

you never struggled, slimed your way

up the wall, fashioned by intrigue,

plotted and manoeuvred past your ability

to reach such dizzy heights;

you surely must have had help

to see beyond your narrow scope.

 

I understand if a seagull

or some other winged bird

spat you out because you tasted

off colour, blue, too raw, undercooked