Sluggish

The slug troops are on the move.
In their row of six they’re stealthy, slow 
leaving a shiny, silver trail. 
Grass tickles them - 
the amazing sluggish six
as they look straight ahead
unblinking eyes teetering on stalks.

A gust of wind blurs their vision. 
A shadow descends. 

Slug One shouts 'Move it!'
Slugs give a spurt of speed. 
'Code shoe situation, fast overhead.'
They’re racing, racing 
to the edge of the 
ever expanding shadow.
Grass rustle rustles
stalky eyes stretch out..

SQUELCH!

There’s a sucking noise, silence.

Troops turn panting. 
There’s flattened grass. 
Slug Six lies silent 
twinkling in his trail. 
His eye stalks shrink, body flat. 
The row of slug eyes look down at him, blink.