The Shiver in Me

The huntsman’s as big as a dinner plate, on the wall
watching patiently for something to fill her.
She’s gone when I boil the kettle, back behind heath paddock
the large McCubbin print from the bric a brac shop.
I’m guessing that’s where she idles, a true original
day dreaming between the parched dock,
all those works waiting to spring forth, or whatever spiders do.
I don’t want the manic dash of disturbance, no descent in
a crazy spiral run or upside down across the ceiling
in that dizzy way, that keeps you guessing about destination.
Those eight eyes don’t see any hemispheric difference –
in global domination the segmented legs annex
the defiant gravity, surface rippling as she passes
submerged in water that isn’t there.  

First published in Australian Poetry, Poem of the Fortnight
The Leviathan’s Apprentice March 2015

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s