Thursday, May 14, 2009

Hermit Crabs

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:

andie said...

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!

Marjolaine Hébert said...

Hi Bren,

I like the subject matter, a refreshing change! And it is well written. I especially like line two.

sms said...

very nicely done

kerryan said...

This is completely fantastic!