The Spider

I scurry at the shadowy hour

Across your bedroom wall

Onto the floor where your dog cowers

And into a corner I crawl

I have eight legs, spindly and hairy

That twitch at every sound

A huge, hairy butt, an egg sack I carry

And glossy eyes that stare at the ground

I spin a web made of silk strands

That I can call my own home

Then sway onto you small clock’s hands

And towards the ceiling I come

I crawl above to where you sleep

And drop onto your cushy bed

Wander forward for a little peek

And walk onto your head

You wake with a start and deafen me

With shrieks that make me sore

Throw me onto the floor violently

Where I find refuge under the door

When I come out the next dark night

You await me at the floor mat

Raise a book above me, out of sight

And before I know it,

SPLAT!

I found this poem in my poetry folder from seventh grade. Seventh Grade! I remember those days, when I used to find spiders everywhere in my room and I was always scared that one would fall on me when I was sleeping. I still see spiders now but not as much as I did then, when my house still had our old carpet. I think I wrote this for the sole purpose of mocking spiders, so that maybe it would make them less scary. It didn't, but that's not the point. The point is....what is the point? I guess there isn't really one, but I hope that you enjoyed the poem nonetheless!

-Alison