b) 5th august my hero

I lie in bed, looking up at the ceiling, listening to the cosy sound
of you cleaning your teeth. In the dim light coming through from the
bathroom I admire our new Matisse poster
till I notice the
slug about to crawl across it

this damp problem is
getting worse

I ask you to turn the light on, when
you come in, and you follow my gaze
yelp "WHAT IS
IT?"

"A slug", I say calmly (I hope, having had
longer to get used to the idea)

As you are still
dressed, and I'm not, I ask what you are going to do about it. The slug
is turning its head from side to side in an alarmed fashion, rather as
a conservative art critic might have when Blue Nude was first
exhibited.

You grab some tissue and I tell you to
make it wet or it will hurt the slug. Then you balance on one leg on
the small bedside table and wobbily reach up like the Statue of Liberty
only holding a damp tissue, get the slug and don't fall off the
table

Safe on the floor, holding slug at arm's
length, you ask where to put it? I say where there's some long grass.
Still holding slug at arm's length you go to put your shoes on. I hear
the clump clump of unlaced shoes, the opening of the backdoor, fading
clump clump, loudening clump clump, shutting of back
door

How can I help loving you???