Slugs When I die I hope I die as slowly and as horribly As my grandmothers slugs there in her rose garden Where she salted them while calmly munching a deviled ham sandwich And handing me the ceramic windmill saltshaker said Here, here child salt them I have to go water the roses And reluctantly taking the shaker I screamed Run, run, run away you stupid snails But they couldn’t run they could barely move And upon hearing the return of my grandmother I hurriedly salted and during this murder in the garden discovered That I could not bear to hear the pleas of the monstrosity of my being Nor hope to survive the salt of my saviors.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 02:48:22 +0000
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