Penelope

by Gail Cleare

A dark breeze seethes
Through hissing leaves,
Cocoa shadows flutter.

Nimbly dodging
Mudbanks lodging
Bullfrog nudge and mutter.

Headlights guised
As insect eyes
Crawl the humped horizon.

I am the spider
Hideous hider
Witching something up in crimson,

Just your size.
The little brown flies
Find me fascinating.

I crunch them slowly
But love you only,
Razor-mouthed and squatting

In the sticky center of the gyre.
Buzzing tires
struggle to escape the turn.

Do not fear
The shrieking you may hear,
It is not a matter for concern.

I am weaving
Something for the evening.
It is not a matter for concern.