BOB STRUM

Bob strum

MY LIFE AS A SNAIL

I live in a house.

My house.

I am the only occupant.

It has many rooms,

Furnished in different ways,

Each with an atmosphere

Of its own.

Of course the rooms

Are linked by doors.

I can usually pass

From one room to another,

But not always.

Some are locked.

Some hidden away.

Inaccessible,

Yet transmitting

Distinctive odours.

Most have windows.

I can see the world,

But the world cannot

Look in.

Each room

Works its magic

On the windows,

Influencing

What I can and cannot see.

Like a snail

I carry house

With me.

I can withdraw into it,

Hide and contemplate.

Each of us slides along

Attached to their house.

Strange that nobody else

Can notice it is there.

Bob Strum