Where Are The Slugs? by Carole Martin

We’re in the habit of hosting slugs.
Year by year they come to explore
in the deserted night-time kitchen,
trails on the carpet near the door.
 
In the morning, there are the signs,
sticky and shining across the floor,
easing themselves into our lives.
Not only that, but – wait, there’s more.
 
Soft little bodies who left it late,
like drunken charmers who never departed
by morning; curled up close on a plate,
or stretched luxurious and soft-hearted
 
in the cat’s water bowl, or the sink.
Every year until now, but here,
this Spring, where are the slugs? We blink -
and they’ve lost their chance to come, this year.