Kinks in the Food ChainThe sullen clouds blew by at last, and, in the evening's
Rain-washed light, I hovered at the margin of the kitchen,
And I hissed at her, "I am the spider. You're the fly."
"We'll see who is whom," she said, and then she made
Her move on me, and staggered, I went reeling back,
And chastened, rather pleasantly, I fell with her upon
The floor, and, in the grappling which ensued,
I wasn't certain which of us was spider,
Which was fly.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 63 times
Written on 2018-06-06 at 02:09
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