A Quiet Neighborhood
I wish he had never come out
from behind the stove, that spider
I stepped on at 4 a.m.
He was a big one
bothering no one.
He didn't see my foot
that hour of the morning.
Reminds me of Mrs. Grimm,
the widow next door.
She took her garbage out
at midnight Sunday.
They found her cold
in the driveway at dawn,
a bullet in her forehead.
Her children swear
she had no enemies.
Survivors of the spider
say the same
about their early riser.
Everyone knows that ours
is a quiet neighborhood.
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