Two weeks ago:
My testosterone reached some critical mass
and so I rolled up that magazine, motivated
to kill that thing that had spun it’s web
next to the door to the mailbox.
Then you deflated me.
You explained that at some point there was this turning point
in your relationship with that arachnid.
You disarm me,
open my weapon
and turn it to the horoscopes.
I am paralyzed and muted by your fickle nature.
the black thing was on the ground motionless
its web was gathering dust so far above it,
next to the doorknob.
I wonder if you should have lead an intervention
before your eight legged friend
ended it all
by leaping from those heights.