on our porch there lives a spider
whom we have taken to calling "Martin"
he is rather large
i suspect he would like to drive my car
if he got pulled over he would freak out the cop
when i return home from work i duck my head
at the entrance--i don't want that huge spider in my face
i look up and say hello to Martin
I try to make small talk:
How are the kids?
Putting on a little weight?
Saw a neat rainbow today
you know, small talk
it would be fun if i had a hat to tip at him when i come home:
"Evening, Martin" said the man, tipping his hat.
Martin never speaks (to me)
but he does flinch when i'm nearby
i suspect that my perfunctory greetings
are grating on him
but he bites his tongue (i think it's a tongue)
and plays it cool:
he's got a good thing going
he eats very, very well
lives in a nice neighborhood
nobody hits him or sprays him
or tells him to get a job
Halloween is coming this Saturday
tomorrow i'm going to ask Martin
if he'll give out the candy
even though he gets cranky sometimes
he'll probably not respond directly to my question
he'll just make that weird face he makes
and then he'll snap his jaw off and scream horribly
hissing his ghastly cries
venom dripping slowly down where his chin used to be
his arms slapping me like hairy scissors
his web alive, crawling with disgorged offspring
thousands of spiders attacking me
dragging me to the driveway
leaving me there to die while they drive away
shrieking hideously, a triumph of hell unleashed
i think i'll wear a hat tomorrow
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image by mjs
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