A (deep) Observation Made in Boredom

A tiny speck
makes it's way
from a corner on the wall.
eight tiny legs
whisper along
strong, albeit small.
Tensile strength
jets along
a thought thin thread of web -
a brush of breeze
the slap of rubber
and now the spider's dead.
How like our own
life it was
last minute of Spider's days,
Short, unfinished,
unproclaimed,
and ended in a blaze.
gazing now at
the smear I know
to be Spider's gooey vitals,
I ponder how would it feel,
at the mercy of someone's sandals?

Adam Zank

http://www.poemhunter.com/

• More information about the poem A (deep) Observation Made in Boredom
• Reader comments on the poem A (deep) Observation Made in Boredom
• More information about the poet Adam Zank