The Un-Slug

Hidden between the valleys of his mundane life oozed a seeping river a wearisome wandering unfocused vision of tedium, an incongruous rift lazing amid the taciturn hum spinning at turtle speed tempting the idle grass to ripple. He ached to feel the earth move beneath his slimy girth, to know the rush of speed, the awe of going - too fast being unable to stop, the joy of having to say “excuse me – comin’ thru”, to be the - “UN-slug”. A deep breath a lonely exhale the all too often plea “Hey, wait for me.” fell upon the silence of his mundane life. John G. Lawless ©11/2/2018