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




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.



I miss you spidey.

Your hole in the wall

near the clock

reminds me now

of life and death.