Brother Slug

A slug came into my father’s garden,
lugging its vulnerable succulence
towards the cabbage patch —
a gentle vegan cruising for its lunch.
‘Brother Slug’, I said but would not touch it.

And when I brought the packet from the kitchen,
it was simply another day. I watched entranced
the slug’s one muscle writhing
in a thickening net of salt and slime –
the shapeless yellowing crust.

Anthony Watts