When I dragged out the box of coal

in the yard there was that moment

when I destroyed a snail

or at least its shell

and thus its sole means of defence

created from pure beauty of design,

the soaring strength of spiral,

the soft palp glistening and exposed.

 

The death of a snail on a cosmic scale

of one to ten would I know be regarded

as quite low maybe above the insect

and below a mouse,

the degree of revulsion involved

being perhaps a mitigating circumstance

conceived by the creator on his big spiral.

 

What upset me most were the slow twists and turns

the confused antennae

not knowing where to go

and so so slow

in the dull destiny of its death.

 

Having some sense of decency left

I took the morsel to the soft earth

beneath a low shady shrub

departed the scene of the crime

the coal quite forgotten

and blessed the sudden passing of time.