Wow, what handsome black and white markings!
Do you mind if I take your picture?
Oh, um, you seem really interested in the arc of the driver’s side door.
Would it be too much trouble to move up or down —
Just a little bit! — so I can open the door?
I’ll drive slowly.
I wish I could speak Spider.
Wait, maybe not.
I wish I could speak Spider Trade Language.
Does this particular spider live in my car? Or on it?
(That would be really cool.)
Do spiders even need Trade Language?
Well, how do they communicate with each other?
Tapping on web strands, maybe, Morse-code style?
Do communal spiders just show up and start working together —
Making clear their collegial intentions?
Or do they signal each other with legs or limbs?
Hey, you survived the drive to the Post Office!
What kind of spider are you?
What do you eat?
Do you have a web?
If you live in or on my car, is it a congenial home?
What do you do with yourself when the car is moving?
How fast can the car go without knocking you off?
Ooooh, I don’t see you on my door anymore.
I hope you’re safely ensconced somewhere out of sight.
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Poem #58, written 4.26.2014