One of Us

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The spider plump with young hangs sinister

With threat. That threat is still… still… still… She… waits

Complicit with death to administer

Destruction on the world.  A thousand fates,

Her spiderlings sent out from silken sack,

Will spin their tiny silken threads to float

Away to waiting and to chomps.  Attack,

Attack, attack a thousand times, they bloat

With slaughter.  Stillness is her threat.  She hangs

Completely still with daydreams of those legs,

Eight thousand legs.  Her thinking, still, harangues

The future with her nightmare bag of eggs.

  If SUDDENLY she moves, she then becomes

    A hymn.  A spider God in heaven hums.