With an unparalleled zest for life,

the bivalve mollusk spends day

after day, after day

luxuriating in a cocoon of wet sand

for thirty-five arcadian years.

Given the chance to eat,

it filters through an endless buffet

of regurgitated flora and feculence.

In through the mouth, and out

through the mouth.

Fitted with every modern convenience,

(save for a brain, eyes, and a nose)

our friend the mollusk enjoys

endless privacy and total darkness.

It never has a need for friends,

for it doesn’t know what they are.

It never has a desire for travel,

because where would it go.

If it could learn to speak,

it would utter one dismal,

protracted syllable:

Woe.