For the dVerse prompt “creepies and crawlies“, a sonnet about slaters:
When the sun is up and the birds about
you can find them, if you know where they creep
into the crevices, all flattened out –
the slate-grey slaters, all huddled in sleep.
But lift up the pot, and let in the light
antennae lift up, and fourteen legs stir
tiny crustacea quiver in fright,
moving so fast all you see is a blur.
As each slater moves to protect itself –
no, they haven’t run, they’re all still right there,
not a single one’s left the greenhouse shelf.
But what are these new things, here in their lair?
These cousins of prawns, transformed, one and all,
instead of a plate, each one’s now a ball!