That Thin Slimy Line

What's with its mysterious beginning and abrupt ending?

There's no question
where they've been,
at least not for the most recent few feet,
just follow that translucent thin trail
that catches the morning light.

The question
is where they're going
as the trail just peters out,
as if they vaporized
or were snuffed out
or plucked up 
by some unseen force
and carted off.

You wonder, too,
where they'd been
before this slimy line began,
as that twisty trail
seems to tell a tale
of serious shenanigans,
like someone spent 
the previous few hours
at the end of the bar
down at O'Neill's
enjoying a pint
or a few.

That thin line tilts
and teeters
and veers off toward Fisher's,
as Dad used to say,
meaning, it's leaning
and anything but straight!

But the bigger mystery
of that snail trail
is how the hell
they even got in here,
in my garage,
tracking their slime
across the old rug
right in front 
of my workbench.

The beginning 
of the trail begins
as mysteriously as it ends,
starting immaculately,
commencing out of nowhere, 
like they landed 
from somewhere far away,
maybe from outer space
or from under the sea.

Maybe they 
got distracted
then remembered 
to hit the slime switch
and start making their presence known,
then just as randomly,
flicked it off
and headed home?

Whichever it is,
I've never seen one
crawling across the floor,
from any direction, 
only outside in the garden,
sliming my rhubarb 
and roses.

So, they're sneaking in,
searching for something,
maybe something sweet
or tart or sour,
or maybe they just like
crawling around in the dark 
at very late hours?

It's a snail's prerogative,
if they can get in!

Just means
I won't be 
walking around 
my garage anymore, 
at night, 
in the dark,
barefoot!