Wham and Grind


A slight flicker in my peripheral vision,
A change in shape, color and light in the field below.
Wham! And a swift grind - the reflexive impulse -
An unfounded attack with a serious size mismatch.

David and Goliath.

But with the newly evolving inner peace, instead,
A deliberately placed overturned glass on the floor,
Safely enclosing the offending maker-of-moves.
Then a paper eased under the haphazard terrarium,
Coaxing - or frightening - all eight scrambling legs on board.

The door was open, prepared for precarious transport,
And to prevent an accidental, premature release.
Directly into my mouth and down into my pharynx.
Pharynx?
To lay down eggs.

Of course.

Finally, a carefully captured critter now free,
Scurrying into the sunshine toward the spider-tree.
And away from the giant oaf,
Who opted not to wham and grind its tiny critter parts.

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