Beware The Trapdoor Spiders Poem by Chris Higginson

There’s a kind of trapdoor spider
that lurks in special stores
Because he now has wider
targets for its claws
You need to know just how he works
to trap the game he catches
And how those places that he lurks
have changed and how he matches
Things to tempt and en-tice prey
to get them in his web
All the things he’s learnt to say
when trade is on the ebb

He used to live in Jewellery stores
with diamonds on display
Behind those tasty boutique doors
with lingerie to play
Or in the restaurants and bars
with cocktails priced to match
Expensive foreign motors cars
of Sport or Rare or Hatch
‘Times he lurked Sporting Clubs
exclusive to just members
Or else was found in Private Pubs
with names no one remembers

But now he baits his costly hook
with other types of bait
He advertises in a book
with pictures that look great
Features that have garden scenes
with shrubs and flowers and pools
But priced for only those with ‘means’
and kids no more in schools
For these are wives of wealthy men
who spend what they are earning
With bank accounts so healthy then
they have this burning yearning

To make him pay for all the times
when he was off at toil
Perhaps he was just earning dimes,
which would his chances spoil
Because he’d have to always be
earning those top dollars
The husbands of these wives you see
have always got white collars
But how do trapdoor spiders
recognise their quarry?
They’re the slim blonde has-beens,
with wrinkles and look sorry!

Chris Higginson