Slugs love our hallway. They sneak in most nights
to relax on our rug and wait for the morning to wake
up and bound downstairs with questions.

‘What are worms for?’
‘Why are dolphins not fish?’
‘Were pirates after the dinosaurs?’
‘When will I have an operation?’

The slugs melt in the light of the morning.
They watch it fiddle with its tight blonde curls
on top of a head bursting with imagery.

‘Tree roots travel beneath manmade
paths like London underground trains.’
‘Imagine if there was a person called Tuesday
and they were only alive on Tuesdays.’
‘My hair is a funfair.’

Slugs love our hallway. They sneak in most nights
knowing these mornings will not last forever.

Carl Burkitt 2026