My Brown SPIDER (a sonnet)

I'm counting legs against a neutral wall;

He hasn't moved now for an hour or more;

With body brown and long, he looks so tall;

I grip my pen; he holds his place most sure.

Is this a standoff? Will he win or lose?

I'd never kill before the sun is up!

Imagine him all dressed and wearing shoes;

He'd drink my coffee, savoring each sip!

Back to counting legs; it looks like seven.

Asymmetry in brown with poise and grace.

If I squash him, will I go to heaven?

Or would he rise to look me in the face?

I'll let him be and greet the sun in time:

For everything, I'm his and he is mine.

8.30.10 in Seattle

Kay Weeks