Araneis Vicinis

I’m starting to like the spiders that have moved into my apartment—

their cobwebs are like poems

each different and

spun of the survival strand

the last ditch secreted effort

to gather sustenance

for them and their eggs

those great grey orbs of life giving which,

soft, I imagine, to the touch

but with a rough, almost denim-like feel

I do not know, because why the fuck

would I ever feel up spiders’ eggs?

still tho, they have become my neighbors.

while I reside in the queen-sized-faux-tempurpedic bed,

they sleep in the space between the dresser and my wall,

in the my corners of my apartment,

in the moist area underneath my old air-conditioner.

these are all my spaces, all my owned areas,

because I pay the damn rent,

but I let them live there and do their own thing,

really anywhere they so choose to crawl and creep

because somehow they’ve made it inside,

and if they’re that resourceful,

I might as well let them stay

and do what they want.

still thought, I cannot forget the one time I must have been in middle school

when I read about how the average human consumes 8 spiders during their life

IN THEIR FUCKING SLEEP on the back of a Snapple bottle those damn facts

and I am, was, will be, have, had, will have been terrified by that statement during all

the present, imperfect, future, perfect, pluperfect, and future perfect

tenses of my life, and to think that my roommates,

my creepy-crawly, eight-legged arachnid roommates

might one day seek out a warmer, darker room in my mouth,

is no doubt terrifying.

but still, I keep them around for their company,

because I can go to sleep knowing that even though

I might ingest one of my friends unconsciously,

at least they’ll eat the fruit flies gnawing restlessly at my rotting apples.