My front door
Has an alcove
Above two
Concrete stairs,
A very modest
recess, not
Deep enough
For chairs.
It offers little
Shelter from
Nature’s tooth
And claw,
But spiders
Seem to think it’s
An arachnid
I find it
Draped in cobwebs
Summer mornings
When the dew
highlights the
Gauzy networks
Spun up o’er night
I sweep them down
And poke my broom
Between the trim
And siding,
Scratching in
Each cranny
To get them
Out of hiding.
I wipe the
Nasty tangles
From my broom
Upon the lawn,
But from the door sill
To the lintel,
Tangles hang again
Each dawn.
It’s rude, uncouth,
And vulgar,
And it’s certainly
To festoon
Their sticky nets
On both my soffits
And my fascias.
And I never see
The buggers!
They’re invisible
It seems,
Though they’re
Hairy, black, and ugly
In my nightmares
And my dreams.
I’ve power-hosed
The recess
Till my vestibule
Is wet
And my drywall’s
Gotten soggy,
And I haven’t
Drowned them yet.
I’ve sprayed with
Spider poisons,
Strychnine, arsenic,
And lead,
Till my wife is
Getting headaches
And my cocker spaniel’s
But the tapestries
Get fancier
With crisscross
Zigzag lines,
Till I think I see
Black widow
And tarantula
So I’ve given up
The struggle.
Let them have
Their little nest.
Sharing space
With Nature’s people
Is prob’ly
For the best.
Or is it just
A weak and
Shameful dodge,
To lock my door
And sneak out
Through the garage?
At least my
Charles Addams doorway
Scares off peddlers
And outsiders,
And as time goes by,
I’ve realized
There aren’t
Any spiders.
No, there’s something
Spinning filaments
Unknown to
You and me,
Something dim
In Nature
Not even science
Can see.
Back in school
When we were youngsters,
A Robert Frost poem
I recall
Spoke of something
Dark in Nature
“That doesn’t love a wall.”
I wonder if he knew of,
But thought better
To ignore,
A corollary
That doesn’t love
A door?
So I age
And watch my fortunes
And my nation’s fortunes
And can feel this wicked
Night Thing
Casting its
World Wide Web.