The Slug

I suckle on nylon tents, titanium pots, and mesh-covered shoes. Once in awhile I get licked by strange objects, this isn’t old news. I was used to being flicked away in revulsion and pesticidal turmoil, on my way to catching the noose. But, I remain the same when the moisture is right and darkness consumes….

Morning

I hear him in his bed, A sudden Whack fills the stillness, I think he bumped his head, A laughter came after, I hope he didn’t chip the plaster.