In the narrow space between the side edge
of the granite bathroom vanity and the wall,
a speck of a red spider built a tight web
that trapped no more, it seemed to me,
than puffs of talc, soap bubbles, moustache
hair.  Catching sense of my looming shadow,
it would tuck itself into the gap.  We co-existed
thus, for days, and eviction never crossed
my mind.  The morning after a weekend away,
I saw, in its place, a web vaster and more flaccid,
hosting a gray spider, many times the size
of my unobtrusive and likely digested friend.
Catching wind of me, the new squatter tried
to wedge itself in the corner by the back wall
away from the conspicuous web but its rear
rear abdomen and trailing legs stuck up, flailed
and wouldn’t fit.  Brushing my teeth with such
a view was no pleasure.  I vowed to give it
three days to seek a safer crevice out of sight
but by the next morning the spider was gone,
outdoors I hoped.  With a tissue, I gathered up
the web and flushed it away, pleased I took
the path of mercy.  Whistling, I stepped
into the tub and felt, before I heard
underfoot, the fatal crunch.

– Philip Wexler