Thursday, April 21, 2011

Shell (National Poetry Month: Day 21)

She scoots along, sliding 
through the crowd like 
the sly snail who 
is forever in half 
ready at an instant to 
into his portable bunker.
Ears and eyes, tail inside,
he presents an impassive
and inscrutable face.
He is safe
in a dangerous world.

Her shell, too, is made 
of spiral, smooth white
mixed with bitter, 
brittle notes.
Behind her earbuds she 
is unassailable.

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