the web

don't move
an inch, i
tell her,
there is a
fat black
spider right
above your head.
he's rubbing six
of his eight
legs together
like cutlery,
as if he's
up to something
or hungry for
a little piece
of you.
he's easing
down on his slender
thread for a
closer look,
then sees me
watching and stops
and winks. he
realizes that
we are both up
to the same thing,
and out of respect,
retreats and goes
back to where
he came from.