Dear spider on my window sill,
I fear that you must be quite ill,
For certainly you’re in no mood
To work at all to catch some food.
I let you be because I thought
That you’d have many insects caught.
But still my house has gnats and flies
Who’ve yet to meet their grim demise.
I would not ask you eat them all–
That order would be rather tall.
Yet not so much as tear a wing,
You haven’t done a fucking thing.
Your “web,” if I may call it that,
Is most ill-made to snare a gnat–
It seems as though you do not care
It’s three sad strands just hanging there.
I wonder what the flies must think,
As they rest safely on my sink,
And see you on the window screen,
My lazy spider welfare queen.
Are they amused to see you so,
Or sad their foe has sunk so low,
That you won’t even move a leg,
To take an insect down a peg?
How can it be you’re still alive,
For on what fare do you survive?
Perhaps you insect flesh despise,
And learned to photosynthesize.
Well, I don’t need another plant,
So to conclude this rhyming rant,
Just know my anger won’t relent
Till you pay me some murder-rent.