(For Abi, who's longing for contact and pining for a pet with hairs on)
But what about Woodlice?
I'll bet there's some waiting for you
in the musty hollow of that rotten log just outside the back door.
They're tactile. And immediately
beneath the surface of the soft sweet muck in your garden.
What about that Spider,
held in the quivering cobweb you’ve been gazing at
above the bed, wondering if you’ll ever get to the spring cleaning?
And those dust mites,
imperceptibly munching your dead flesh as you lie there,
hungry and homesick, once removed from this sensational world?