Having claimed an empty shell
the hermit crab's routine is enviable
shedding accretions in one uncorking squeeze
and onward to a more accommodating
elsewhere
if with such ease we could proceed
attachments would stray and waver
as strands, perhaps Spanish moss or creeper
our roots, tenacious though, like those of obstinate weeds
scraping off the mud of years, stacking up the keepers
extraneous now, home's morphing more and more
a packing shed, a terminus. Buffered by bubble wrap
a refreshingly temporary feeling
- how else could we leave?
Related Posts: ‘Scaping the City
Lillian has given us a multi-layered prompt for this week’s Poetics: Shed – and one I can relate to as of now
