On hard wet ground,

exposed like a pulsing nerve,

half a yard from the comfort of grass,

it writhed unsteadily to unheard music

while the connoisseur’s eye

judged its girth from a bush.

 

Rainwater marinated

and near wasted after a night of passion,

casting tired letter shapes

as the sun split clouds overhead,

this six inch night crawler

knew its place on the menu,

coelomic fluid spurting in jerked responses

to the half perceived silent threat 

of a hidden beak.

 

Meal fixed in a yellow ringed eye,

target acquired, locked on, the beak cared not,

its sudden action initiating

a hopeless animated letter S on the pavement,

as the sun denied witness to death throes

and buried itself back in the safety of clouds.