Poetry

And now they are joining me for yoga

I saw you in that traditional place –

the bathtub –

small and crawling,

trying ever more feverishly to cling to the sides.

But every eight steps saw you slip and fall;

I could bear to watch it no more.

 

With shaking hands I picked you up,

placed you on the windowsill

and said farewell.

 

I thought no more of you

until a cousin

hitched a ride on my leg.

It was hot and the ground warm,

so I suppose I was the logical choice.

 

Transportation in a breeze.

 

And more recently, another friend

of yours

joined in with my morning yoga;

my back arched in cobra position

and they splayed out fully.

I wondered who would win.

 

Sensing my surprise, they scurried away.

 

I thought that was the end of the visits,

but in writing this,

approval had to be met,

so on the wind came another

ready

to notate the ink

with swift legs.

Poetry

The armoured ones on many legs

On cold days they come inside, hunker down

and have a chat in the corner of the room.

Sometimes, they brazenly waltz into the kitchen

sniffing around for scraps and crumbs, inching

around the washing machine and the fridge,

pausing if we stray too close and offer a hand.

One even tried to have a bath once;

lucky the taps weren’t left on to accidentally

swirl it away down the plughole.

I admit, it was alarming at first to think

we had house guests who never announced their coming,

simply turning up whenever they felt like it.

Now, they’re as much a part of the household as us.

But I will move them out from underfoot

if they’re in danger of getting squished.