But not this one

Somewhere in the Amazon rain forest I suppose
there is a magnificent spider - shelled like iron
fused with sun-hot magnesium - and embellished
with a soft fur of cyan blue, sunset red and fiery
orange. Such a beast exists and its eight razor limbs
jail a helpless prey twisted into this path by
some anonymous fate as black and blind as itself.
An attempt for fleeing is only a second-long illusion
before the forefront pincers have stabbed the
senseless ant silent. Yes, somewhere a spider has
executed this feat.

But not the one that scrabbled on my window sill
- eight flailing sticks like a broken ballerina, only
a crumb - iota - grain - modicum of withered dust.
Squashed by the howling night wind by the speed
of a car. It spun like a tumbleweed and adhered itself
to the man-made shine of a car door.


Somewhere in the Amazon rain forest I suppose
there is a magnificent spider - but not this one.