Ode to that Slug on my Sidewalk

Watching as my fingers stain in smoke.
Tiny baby slugs scattered around presumably it's parent.
Head held high in jaguar spots.
I've never witnessed the likes of its offspring before.

I'm saddened at the thoughts of my conjuration of others thoughts.
I imagine vast majority of people prefer to not see the slugs trail.
a shining path of its labored past.
and i feel sad for it.

a deep philosophical emotion for this creature.
to realize how unnatural for it to heave across our sidewalks.
desolate grey for equivocal miles.
sharp and jagged, dragging it's concrete belly.

and the depths of my expression toward this scene,
could be compared to my favorite television character being written off;
"Damn. That sucks." so eloquently thought.
As i sip the smoke between my fingers.

perhaps i showed too much empathy for it.
i surely am above shaking it's hand.
now if it had a shell, we could relate.
for a snail, is one of my favorite observations.

sympathy and wonder *come to me so much easier/come so much easier to me,
for the snail, over my indifferences to the slug.
and i notice that grandeur detail, as i think about how i think.
and i'm glad i did not play god with my foot.

there is no disgust.
even if it eats the shrub.
and its young grow to be too many.
it earned those jaguar spots as a warrior.

it has no idea how much admiration *for it i have/i have for it.
it cannot hear my mind apologize for its great asphalt journey.
it doesn't understand my appreciation of its epic through the yard to be here now.
these are the pleasures of my own thoughts i usually keep for myself.