Well, here it its, my first poem for April.

 

Spidey

 

Living in the wall,

on the wall,

or off wandering,

it was with us

for several weeks.

 

Big and black

it was a silent presence.

I called it spidey,

and wondered

why it was there.

 

Then, on Good Friday

it hung from the ceiling

on a single silken strand

seven legs curled up,

one holding on tight.

 

There for days

unmoving, non threatening,

but constantly

present and dangling . . .

Was it alive?

 

Easter sunday, it fell,

plunging from up

near ceiling

to down, on floor.

Dead.

 

I miss you spidey.

Your hole in the wall

near the clock

reminds me now

of life and death.

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