Unit

It’s a drizzly night.

Seems Moldy March is hitting its stride.

I pull the bike up the curb and roll along the sidewalk, easing to stop as I lever the kickstand out.

I jump off to grab some cash from the ATM

There’s no one around

It’s late

Wait.

Actually, there is one being here

And she is a unit

Oozing out, like burger juices at the gastro pub

I first notice the shell, ringed, layered, a collection of grays and beige. Then I see his antennae.

She’s up for a walk

A stroll under the stars, in the rain

If the pavement were dry, slime trails would be left behind by this hermaphroditic gastropodic glory

I take a minute to watch her make his way toward the grass

A noble goal

I’m here, the noble, the Nobelist

Making his way

Unhurried

No pace

And, as I hop onto my bike

I give her a jaunty wave, a doff of my cap

And I wish this escargot well on their transition

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