Who put the snail in the letter box?
Did it crawl there by itself or did
God put it there as a paradox,
Something to see when you lift the lid,

Not at all out of place until then?
Was it the postman, is it a lark?
Nobody knows how it got there or when.
I, like the snail, am kept in the dark.

While it was there, it chewed on the mail,
Like some great enemy of free speech
Justice has now turned into a snail,
For shells are cells slime-bags can’t breach.

I did what anyone with a mind
And a heart does. As if all were well,
I set it down, more in doubt than kind,
Then cursed the bastard straight to Hell.

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I sometimes find snails in the letterbox. I always find the experience disturbing but, as far as I can recall, I have never squashed any offenders.