I saw a man with a spider yesterday.

Eight beady black eyes not once a’flicking,

Shiny sharp mandibles champing and clicking.

It perched atop his head; a great bird of prey.

“Sir,” I asked, “Might I inquire what troubles you?”

“My job and my wife,” he replied, “I fear to lose both.”

“But surely you won’t,” I said, “If you value their worth.”

“His wife who is cheating,” the dark spider hissed, “with his boss too.”

The man and his spider went on their way.

I wondered if I were going insane.

What sort of folk had spiders in their brain?

But that was not the last I saw that day.

A young woman was next, pleasingly plump.

Her hairy spider crouched, fat body dangling,

Near crushing a small dog, its tags rudely jangling,

And enough claws and spines to make a porcupine jump.

“Miss,” said I, “could you spare the time?”

“Too much trouble,” she yawned, “home I must be.”

“Yes,” rasped the spider, “for nap number three.”

“Apologies,” I said, “rest is most sublime.”

The pair trundled off, leaving me to ponder;

If all folk had these spiders, might I have one too?

What shape did it take, what vice, what hue?

Fear? Anger? Sloth? Perhaps Gluttony? Which failing is mine, I wonder, I wonder.

I avoid my reflection now, be it pond or mirror.

Who knows what I’d see, clinging to my head;

A horrid beast of octants, fangs dripping red.

I don’t wish to know, for it’s the spider I fear.