Waiting For The Snail Poem by Sheena Blackhall

I am waiting for the snail
To emerge from her whorled house
So I may engage with her

I’ve set siege to the wall
She sticks to it like a clam

It seems she prefers the loneliness of her shell
She has no wish to pretend to be a person
Or to be a person pretending to be a snail

Maybe the snail is dead
Maybe she’s menopausal
Maybe she’s off to visit an aunt in Swansea

Next day the wall is snail-less
Not a slime, not a crunch of snail

Was there ever a snail? you ask, mistrustfully
There must have been
She’s slithered along this poem