Charlotte's web

I squished a spider the other day
as she climbed away from the rubbish bin.
Banana peels, folded brown and musty,
apple cores and spoilt yoghurt poured over
the empty cereal box that I read every morning.

A man with a pump can
sprayed poison around the kitchen,
reaching with his long hose back behind
the stove and the refrigerator.
“They ‘ll die when they ingest it,” he
said. “It’s harmless to humans.”

Out on the porch hung a blue light
in a mesh of stainless steel. There
soft balls of powdered white flashed
yellow orange, and the touch of bodies
nourished on others’ blood made the sound
of fire.

I never woke to find myself wrapped in silk.
No webs appeared after a steamy shower. I
sat down in the empty kitchen and
rested my head in my hands. A black
briefcase slept quietly in the corner.