Mollusk

I killed a small mollusk today,
a gastropod to be precise
but consulting my Mens Rea
it was a sheer matter of manslaughter—
for he had crept over the human threshold with gusto
like the teetotal hallucination of an insane woman,
slowly oozing his suicidal way
over the coarse, blue running-track,
passing the shot-put pit,
and under my swift shoe—
his shell went snicker-snack,
and I watched his gastro
system ironically drip from my foot

seeing him there, disassembled—
shapeless and everything exposed—
made me wonder what it is like
sporting your trifling anus in your neck,
having storable genitals,
and your primitive eyes on retractable tentacles
but most importantly your nose—
smelling the new day break
with all its hell and high water
from the safety of a lubed brick
and the odd smell of oncoming rubber-outsole
your helix home too heavy on your back
making you slow—

no ears to hear it go
snick-snack