a spider this morning.
It fell
twitchingly to ground
from door frame, and
the blunt end of
my pen was
covered with its
soft tissues.
I killed
it in retaliation for
the brown recluse who
bit my mother;
I killed
it to keep others from
suffering.
I rinsed
off my pen in the
water fountain and upon reflection,
understand
how fortunate
men are that
spiders do not
behave like men.
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