Sometimes it is harder not to stomp a snail,
exploding something that won’t be missed.
But desire slips when you remove your size ten
weapon to inspect the shine of oily blood
on scraps of shell burst like an overturned
puzzle and a healthy snail stares back at you.
Its feelers accuse you like two middle fingers
until, bored, it slides away boulder slow.
James Nixon lives in London and edits the poetry blog Fry Your Friends. He is currently studying on the MA Creative Writing at Royal Holloway. His poetry has previously been featured in publications such as The Patchwork Paper, The Cadaverine,Neon and The Wait anthology which raised money for Cancer Research. When James is suffering from writer’s block he binges on blues music and documentaries. You can follow James on twitter here.
