Spider's Lament

Like Emily Dickinson,
I could not stop for Death,
Or,
I should say,
I wouldn't.
But,
As it turns out,
Death made all the arrangements,
And I had no choice in the matter.

It's my fault.
We are an oft misunderstood species,
Maligned,
Suffering from poor public relations,
Known to associate with all things creepy,
And macabre.
We are universally hated and feared!
I stupidly chose to ignore this truth.
We are,
It is well-known and documented,
Unwelcome,
Despite the fact that,
Spiders like me,
Eat pests that can actually kill humans!

(Did I happen to mention that mosquitoes,
And bees,
And wasps,
As well as OTHER humans,
Kill more humans every year,
Than my kind?)

Doesn't matter, though,
Does it?

It's all my fault.
I take full responsibility for my own,
Untimely,
And unnecessary end.

It's as simple as this:

I scuttled,
Looking for food,
Into a dark,
Inviting space,
Just doing what I do,
And then everything went bright white,
Brilliant.

I froze,
My multiple eyes,
Slowly adjusting to the sudden light.

That's when Death found me,
A repulsive object of human scorn,
And I was promptly smashed with a shoe.

And so,
I became Death's companion,
Since Death is unafraid of spiders.

(I am being told,
Too late,
That there is no love for my kind,
Ever,
In this place called a "restroom."
How was I,
A spider,
Supposed to know such things?)

I will do my best to warn the others,
But,
From this side of eternity,
I make no promises.

4-2-19