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