Tarantula

not the spider
but the idea of it
outstretched like the fingers
of a handshake

scarabing down the wall
and across
to the dim circle
of light

surrounding the small green area
rug
green and red and green

in which my chair
and I cringe
at the greeting

steadily advancing on its hairy thoughts

JD Frey--September 10, 2002

 


more poems?