Snails, like poets, can survive on fresh air
alone, for months. No, really.
If it gets too arid they go into
suspended animation. Tucked up in their little shell.
Ah. I’ve dried up already. How embarrassing.
Snails love life, keep it simple. If a snail sees
someone they fancy, they harpoon them with a
love dart. No, don’t go, that’s it’s real name.
Snails are slow movers, but they certainly get around.
Either way will do, all ways, anyways.
Snails are smart, feed at night when the predators
are asleep. My place or yours? Is never asked,
they are already there. The ultimate in home delivery,
that chemical calling card. Here, have another glass.
What are you having? With ice?
Snails need the stability, they spend hours
circling the issue. Those horny harpoons look handy;
I could use one. For those days, you know the kind,
when you just slide across the
room; all it takes is the right nudge.
This elaborate courting ritual is
odd, the rules opaque, fixed. Snails are hermaphrodites.
Can do without; if the receiving snail
doesn’t get the signal from the dart,
he/she digests the sperm. She moves on.
Snails survive an arid environment for months;
retreat into their shell. Suspend
animation. Just your common garden
snail. Not much to look at, but a bit of a goer.
I think I’ll just crawl back under my rock.
A Chatham born poet, blogger and short story writer, SM Jenkin is one of the editorial advisors for Confluence magazine. SM is a regular performer on the Kent Live lit scene and has had work published in literary anthologies and magazines including: Boyne Berries, Medway Mermaid, City Without a Head, the Medway Festival Fringe, All Sorts and Unexplored Territory. SM is a geek with an incurable fascination for trippy 1960s sci-fi. Be Seeing You…?