there was a spider in the sink
when I went to wash my plate
like a stationary punter in a rink
who never learned to skate

I’m not a fan of spiders
espcially the wild n’hairy outsiders
abdomens active as hadron colliders
four pairs of furry culottes and spats
fanny packs & black slouch hats
more swagger
than jagger
if jagger had eight legs
not two
and fronted not The Stones but The Who

maybe

like I say I’m not crazy
about those creatures
whose rough n’ready features
are enough to give me seizures
and inspire unorthodox procedures

so I used the corner
of a scrubber
(sure – I’ve had practice)
scooped him with a shudder
shook him onto a cactus

I looked as he stared at me up from the pot
did he thank me for my trouble? no, he did not

to be fair, though
flying through the air so
unexpectedly
would theoretically
be enough to make anyone feel traumatised
and it’d take you a while to get properly organised

if I’d been wandering round stainless steel flats
behind me a plughole, above me, taps
I might be more than a little uneasy
swept up by a squeegie
rudely removed
from THE WORLD OF SMOOTH
to be cast in THE LAND OF SPIKES
I mean YIKES
I’d be desperate
close to collapse
a spike in the spinneret
and one in the paps

but this spider’s a survivor
we’ll learn to coexist
him as hairy fly provider
me as home economist