The Tortoise

The world's slowest coach on a go-slow, almost on strike
As he dawdles over decisions, unable to make up his mind,
Allowing it to daydream down lonely paths of nothingness,
While he fills up on food, silently savouring every mouthful,
Munching and crunching away, listening to the chew,
Making it last a long time until it passes down,
Naming them as it passes - larynx, pharynx, epiglottis,  
Into the gurgling cauldron below, giving him time to think
Or read, even if that's slow, at fifteen minutes a page,
While the TV leaps around, weaving confusion,
Leaving him wondering where he fits into a hasty world
Willing to leave him behind unless he hurries up.
Though he's content to keep to himself, silently musing,
Even tempted to withdraw and hibernate,  he carries on.
May 2023