Has it been four days now?
Must have been.  Nearly a week
since I did the deed.  It was dark,
and I was hurrying – I didn’t see
his form, the path in front of me.
My careless size-ten shoe came down,
and crushed his hopes and dreams.

My stride stopped mid-step.  Sickened
by that sound, the chilling crunch;
I saw him, when I lifted up.
A tragic mix of slime and shrapnel.

And now – although you’ll doubt –
I swear he’s back.  I am the mollusc’s
sole unfinished business
on this fast and brutal Earth.

You’ll say it’s in my head, if I report
that I can hear his death
in every mistimed gearshift,
every mouth devouring crisps.

But it’s not my conscience doing this,
it’s him.  He’s putting me through hell.
I hear, with every step I take,
the breaking of the tell-tale shell.

Last night, I thought I saw him,
bright and cold, in death.
Slowly sliding next to me,
and felt his tiny, ghostly breath.

‘It was dark!’  I scream.  ‘I was hurrying!’
His silence says it all.  But still,
you don’t believe me?  Come on round,
see the trails across my walls...

and explain the vengeful holes
in my fridge-ridden, cellophaned lettuce.