Sunday, August 5, 2007

Lawn Forcement Agency

I came down one fine morning on a Thursday in July,
The sun had not made much of an impression in the sky,
I filled the kettle wearily to make myself a drink,
And looked out at the garden as I stood there at the sink.

And as I watched, I saw a big black mark upon the glass,
But then I saw it was a massive slug upon the grass.
It must have been four inches long, or maybe even more,
I got the key and turned it very slowly in the door.

I breathed the crystal morning air, and picked a nice, sharp rock,
With which to break the fifth commandment, right on six o’clock.
The sharp edge of the rock sliced through the soft flesh of the beast,
And orange blood came flowing from the wound of the deceased.

And then I saw another slug, thin and small and pink,
I raised the rock a second time and didn’t stop to think,
And then a third, and then a fourth, and then a sixty-first,
A frenzy overtook me as I watched them squelch and burst.

By the time I’d finished, I was sweating at the brow,
I lost my mind and to this day, I’ve no idea how,
Was it my primal instincts, from the day that I was born,
That made me commit slugicide, that morning on the lawn?

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