My local thrush, an adolescent male, not fully grown,
has found beneath the laurel hedge a snail he wants to eat.
He’s brought it back to smash against a handy paving stone.
I watch the callous murder of a helpless gastropod
in which brute force, not surgeon’s subtle art, is on display.
Has he been taught by mother? Or by DNA? Or God?
Whichever, he’s no expert. But persistence finds a way;
he penetrates his victim’s armour, and consumes the treat.