Found Poem #6

AIRCRAFT MECHANIC WITH ARMS CROSSED

In a corner of the hangar

between beam and guidewire

is a spider’s web,

the spider motionless

at a distance from a pouch of eggs,

with some tiny spiders, barely visible,

emerging and moving outward

like an expanding galaxy.

As spiders are intrinsically evil,

attacking their hapless victims,

injecting them with poison,

and with eight needle legs,

working furiously,

to roll such sad flies and moths

 into living mummies

(the juice will be sucked later),

it seems somehow my duty

to strike a match, light a paper,

and hold it beneath the web,

ball of eggs and all,

but then I wonder

if any life

is better

than

no

life.  

  sk/1982