You asked me for a poem about home and I remembered
that millions of years ago there was plenty of food for all
in the Garden of Eden and slugs
were well supplied with greenery and all was one big happy family
until slugs found that other species found them tasty
chocolate jellies or unjust desserts especially when after
a good night out they were, well, sluggish about getting home
and the sun came out and gulp quick as a slug of Jack
but spotting one night or was it day, a battered caravan
serai, it occurred that a portable home would be a good thing
to evolute. Became snails. Just took time.
Poetic point of this is for there is a point, that
human beings are much the same, there’s the bricks and mortar thing
we call home but really home is
in the head or heart, we carry it with us, it’s the place we go when
there’s no other place to go.
And next time you feel a bit sluggish
about going to work, or like a snail unwillingly to school
you’ll have to admit that Evolution
does a goddamned good job, a home in your backpack
beats commuting to work any day. Respect.
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