Verse for the Intensely Sensitive

Upon a Banana Slug I Stepped

 

Surrounded by ancient West Coast giants,
Tops swaying in the salt-steeped air,
I walk, sandals in hand, on a whim,
Borne of the moment and an urge to touch the land with my sole.

One moment, one step, the cool and gritty soil;
The next, a fleshy pulsing warmth;
A warm and slick sensation;
There beneath my foot.

Paradise lost just then, dreams dashed of uprooting my eastern life;
To thrive forever here on this island amidst the trees.
For here there are banana slugs awaiting any step;
And thus here I cannot be.




Gateway to an Encounter

You spin your web in places dark and cool;
And in the sun where it is bright and warm.
In corners, amongst the trees, and across furniture unused too long.
And there you stake your claim.

But trails guarded by pairs of yellow poles are for me;
Raised to keep cars out and people between.
They're not for you, small spider, those twin gateways;
Not your place to cast your threads.

For when I do come whisking through;
And feel your silky sticky strands across my arm;
I cringe, but cannot stop.
And you and I are momentarily locked in a losers' tangle.

Keep to the corners and amongst the trees and across furniture unused too long;
And behind and under boxes in cellars and attics.
Those places I will cede to you.
But the trail is mine and you intrude here at your own peril.

It Is Frowned Upon in Public Places to Do That

The sensation comes unbidden;
A need that needs fulfillment.
Its source no longer matters;
It was yesterday and who remembers now.

But it is frowned upon to meet this need;
In public places where people gather;
And raise their judgmental eyebrows;
At people being natural and self-gratifying.

So I try to hold it in;
Clenching hard with muscles no one sees.
And I fail, because those muscles are weaker now than years ago.
And people take note and turn away.



Polite society doesn't think it is okay
For those alone, in a crowd
To spontaneously release
A laugh.