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Arts & entertainment

‘Home for Sale’ – a poem

05 Sep 2022 | Written by By Alan Wordsmith

High definition photograph of a snail, partially recoiled, perched atop a small patch of moss, overlooking some grass.

Read Alan’s musings on home and how it is not always the source of joy people think it is – as told through the perspective of a morose snail. This poem was inspired by one of Grace Palmer’s Creative Writing sessions, which are hosted via Zoom every Tuesday at 3pm here at The Joy Club.

Home for Sale

 

You may think you really know me
Because my home is here with me,
But, inflexible, it weighs so heavy
It really does, it gets me down.

Been the same since I was a snailette
And my family and me,
Like a slimy, grimy row of houses,
Up the cabbages we’d slide.

I didn’t like the feeling then
And I hope that you will see,
Just cause home is on my doorstep,
Life’s not as good as it could be.

There are gaps I just cannot traverse
Because my shelly house is big,
So the long way round I slither
When I arrive, there’s nowt to eat.

I can never have sleep-overs,
Nowhere for anyone to stay,
For all it’s space, there’s only me here,
So friends, they all now stay away.

How I feel, it is not easy,
By all my family I am shunned,
“You are a ruddy snail”, they tell me,
“Just suck it up and stop your moans“.

I’ve tried to have a better outlook
But I can’t help the way I feel
I know it’s left me all alone now,
This mobile home’ll be the death of me.

This heavy house I have atop me,
Really sends me cursing mad,
And I can tell you, truly, this is
One snail who’d rather be a …. slug!


If you have some of your own poetry which you’d like to share with us, please send it over to submissions@thejoyclub.com for the chance to get paid and published on our blog. 

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