My Adopted Pet Spider

Every morning I sit on my perch

On the porch

To take in the cool morning air and observe

The debris of the battles of the night.

The mangled, nacel wings of a tondo,

That failed to swerve or parry in flight,

That went on to lose the fight of his life,

On the porch of a Japanese condo.

To the sound of the caw of the crows

And the high-pitched chirruping of a thousand cicadas,

I can see that the night belonged to Harry,

A powerful force let loose in nature's larda.

Harry doesn't live here,

He just comes in the night,

To weave his web

Of a thousand strands.

And Harry doesn't leave here

Until he's won the fight, If it takes all night,

To weave and deceive

With his gossamer kumonoso plans.

Stretched and fine-tuned

To perfect pitch

With a hair-trigger touch,

Harry waits for the imprudent tondo.

He strikes like lightning

Deathly, fatal, awful and frightening,

The prey will make for one glorious hondo.

The night belongs to Harry.