Death of a Snail
The lizards race across the path
And dodge the bike’s front tire.
I watch them racing ‘cross the track
Their tails and legs afire.
They never dawdle, never shirk,
They neither stop nor veer nor brake,
For even in the evening’s gyre
Intent they are on missions dire.
Not so the tree snail, slowly paced
Meanders on the morning track
She weaves a trail of jagged lines
That wander forwards, doubles back
Her fractal wanderings might opine
That straightness is a tune
Distinct from nature’s aquiline
A melody not yet sublime.
Alas for cruel philosophy
The tree snail meets her doom
Between the pavement and tire
A crush, a crack, a snicker-snack
And no more house, no more desire
To wander on the broader stage
Now meaningless its crafted plume
Now speechless in its shell crushed tomb.
An instrument of death am I
Unwitting tragic lullaby.