augury doggerel

Tuesday, July 15, 2003


A wet morning and I'm walking down the middle of the abandoned railway, crouching every five feet to move a snail safely to the grass. I scold them in an "aren't you a naughty wee hermaphrodite?" sort of voice. Then I see a man to my right moving at the edge of the trees on the other side of the road, close enough to hear everything. But he carries on looking for empty bottles and cans. I'm the one talking to snails.


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