The inspiration for this poem wasn’t slime mould, but graphs of the human population increasing on Earth, combined with decreasing fertility and increased connectivity via internet usage. This suggested a species rapidly reaching the limits of its environment and forming some kind of escape plan. At least, for some lucky individuals.
Comparing humans to slime mould is completely subjective. It’s impossible to prove or disprove such an idea and so it is not ‘scientific’. Its appeal is rooted in pattern matching – certain shared traits between the species – and it’s hard to ignore the pattern once you see it. There’s a good chance the next time you hear about the increasing population, or lack of resources, you’ll think “slime mould!”
I decided to embed the poem inside the mould’s life-cycle, with the circular area suggesting looking down into a petri dish. This resulted in the disembodied narrative voice of a scientist or a lecturer. This was intended to raise the question (I’m not sure how successfully) of whether anything may be looking down on us in our ‘dish’, and where our ‘spores’ might travel to.
More about slime mould
Cellular slime mould are fascinating organisms that are neither plants, funghi nor animals. They live as single cells hunting bacteria, until the food runs out, whereupon they emit a signal that causes thousands of them to band together into a giant slug, which crawls off in search of food.
If the slug can’t find a better location and is going to starve, it develops tall towers in which spores are formed, to drift away on the wind. This is a group endeavour but only the spores escape.
Another weird feature of cellular slime mould, is that the individual cells are a like predatory sperm or eggs. They are haploid, meaning they only have one copy of their genetic code, like sperm or eggs cells. They only get another copy (becoming diploid) when they fuse together with another slime mould cell.