A tardus inter runco persolvo (yeah, slugs again)

Years ago when I was a reporter at a Catholic newspaper we received a copy of a book by a Rochester spiritual writer, Father Thomas Green, SJ. (God rest his soul.)

The book was Weeds Among the Wheat.

Being a wise guy - and not intending any slight against Father or his book - I quipped that if I ever wrote an autobiography it would be called A Slug Among Weeds.

The Slug part is a given. Slug suggests a slothful, lazy person, an idler. That's me.

It's also a lowly creature. Also me. Some wags might even call me slimy.

I think of St. Francis calling his own body Brother Ass. At least he was worthy of being a mammal.

When it comes to Weeds - I have an affection for them (as my neighbors might attest). I'm not one of those herbicidal maniacs out to massacre every non-grass plant on my lawn. I like dandelions, chicory, Queen Anne's Lace.

From a theological point of view, there are many folks who have been (and are) considered "weeds" by others - lepers, prostitutes, drunks, tax collectors, fishermen, shepherds, pro-lifers, and so on. So A Slug Among Weeds makes sense.

As for the sluggy haiku, well, I think many purists would not consider my 17-syllable scribbles proper haiku, although a few of my creations might flirt with the literary boundaries. I certainly would not submit them to haiku journals.

I'm simply playing with the words and images, having a grand old time, nurturing my Dada side and my inner slug.

And besides, it's better than sitting around obsessing over the perceived sins and faults of others.

I'm a slug, after all.