Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Monday, August 1, 2016

Sonnet #30

Spider, spider, trapped in my tub,
I do not know what dropped you here,
Where your nimble limbs can't lift you up
The porcelain too smooth, I fear.
In general terms, I do not hate your kind
I value all that lives and eats of vermin
But, the stripes upon your back incline
Me to suspect you're full of poison
I wish we had not met like this
Out in a field, I'd watch you hunt
I'd cheer you on, but here it is
A broom, allow me to be blunt,
A monster in the field is cheered along
Monsters in my bathtub do not live long.

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