Several nights now I come home late
find fat slugs feasting on the cat’s food
in a corner of the kitchen.
They must find their way
by smell, extrude slimy bodies
beneath a gap in the door, sucker
their mouths onto meaty biscuits
gorge themselves until girth and greed overwhelm.
Slow slide back out into the garden
a mere glistening trail
by my morning’s approach.
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