House spiders

Dead flies husks laying 

On the bedroom windowsill

Showing the silent if deadly

Activity of the resident black spider.

It does not go AWOL as others

Tend to do, so our paths

Don't cross that much.

It is certainly shyer than the huntsman

Who loves to stretch herself

As much as possible in order

To display her flat velvety body

And her infinite legs

And always seems to be in one's way

Especially at night time when one's hand

Is blindly searching for the switch

And when it is revealed, it is within

Short distance of the said hand

Thankfully she scatters off hurriedly

How many times when the weather turns cold

Have we met at night-time?

L. Bailliet©

24/05/2012