Stuffed into shells they’ve outgrown,
their soft bellies hang out like beer guts,
as they wait for better real estate.
But the next-size up,
the cream-coloured dog whelks,
have all been pocketed, serve time
on bathroom shelves.
While the hermit crabs hide
under barnacle-crusted rocks,
brandishing their one big claw
like a man with a cane
trying to defend himself.
4 comments:
this is the cutest fricking poem i've seen yet :)
and no i'm not drinking. i wish i was though. BRRRRR it's cold.
thanks for taking me to the beach Bren!
Hi Bren,
I like the subject matter, a refreshing change! And it is well written. I especially like line two.
very nicely done
This is completely fantastic!
Post a Comment