Once upon a doorway hung a specially spartan spider
Who was extremely private and a classical outsider
She resided on the fringe of life in self-imposed confinement
Strategically positioned in a most select alignment.
Objectively assessed she wasn’t what you’d term endearing
But she was a great achievement of ingenious engineering
Some people kill these creatures ‘cos they say they’re creepy-crawly
They even get dramatic and claim spiders make them poorly
In point of fact, they ought to feel a little more indebted
To such spiders as Soraida who worked hard but never sweated
She did them a big favour if they only would but know it
She supplied a free insect control, which for me is quite heroic
It was a true tutorial to watch her build her home
In blatant view of everyone who let their vision roam
Her blueprint was her web which showed her architectural instinct
A state of the art design within her self-appointed precinct
One morning as the sun rose and dew gleamed on her abode
A careless postman came along with a rather bulky load
Oblivious of anything, he brushed against the web
Then turned and went back down the path, a none-the-wiser pleb
Soraida’s world turned upside down, she feared a cruel marauder
And scuttled off to save her skin and flee the wild disorder
A state of blatant terror overcame her in her panic
She looked for all the world as though she’d died – she was so manic
She laid there, lost and lifeless, curled her legs towards her heart
To simulate demise – a tactic I would say was smart
She performed the “dear departed” act until the coast was clear
She relied on close vibrations to assuage her constant fear
Relieved to ascertain the danger had in fact departed
She ventured to tiptoe back home, distressingly faint-hearted
Her penthouse was a shambles but she didn’t want to grumble
She’d have to build another one, however plain and humble
She gobbled up the remnants of her once robust construction
To reabsorb the protein she would need for new production
With no delay she set about to spin her new creation
In every sense a work of art – a technical formation
With apparently no effort, she created her strong silk
Similar to the ease with which a cow produces milk
The silk emerged as liquid while she worked with all due haste
Almost like squeezing smoothly from a tube of soft toothpaste
She had to spin the “walking lines” to make her web secure
And lay the sticky trap threads with her own home-made liqueur
She worked with speed and competence to ensure she had a home
Hopeful that some take-away might just be on the roam
Mosquitoes, moths or flies or wasps – it was all the same to her
Main thing, they landed on her web without causing a stir
Her menu was most flexible and depended on her catch
Either individuals or same species in a batch
She settled in her brand new home and began to think of dinner
She felt quite glad to be alone – her very own breadwinner
She only had two goals in life – to feed if she was able
And not become the centrepiece of someone else’s table
There were two possibilities – to eat or to be eaten
Through downright luck and aptitude, so far she was unbeaten
So for that very reason, when potential food approached
She had to be quite certain, she herself would not be poached
Soon her patience was rewarded as a fly prepared to land
She kept quite still until she knew she had him in her hand
She injected him with poison to prevent his wings from flapping
And swiftly packed him up in her distinguished silk-thread wrapping
By the time she finished work she had transformed his whole appearance
All snug in his cocoon and safe from outside interference
She left him for a while for her process to take effect
While she thought about the triumphs of her day in retrospect
When the fly was duly ready in his special marinade
She approached him to determine what a tasty meal she’d made
Meanwhile he had been liquefied and turned into a soup
And all she had to do was make a hole and have a scoop
(She never ate whole creatures but always left their shell)
She swallowed what she needed, tipped him out and said farewell.
One pleasant day at twilight as Soraida ate her supper
She discovered a new neighbour, he was undoubtedly a scupper
As sure as she looked over he was spinning silk like crazy
Trying to impress her though he normally was lazy
In his efforts to amaze her he was spinning like demented
His exertions on the job were really quite unprecedented
She watched with fascination as this idiot proceeded
To get himself tied up in knots completely unimpeded
Every now and then he took a peek just to be sure
The lady was still mesmerised with this little Melchior
Soraida would have none of it, then the first rule in her book
Was to eat and not be eaten, and he wasn’t yet off the hook
She hadn’t had the chance to take a look at his credentials
She wasn’t even sure he was equipped with the essentials
She figured if he’d had designs to make a meal that night
He would have crept up suddenly and given her a fright
He obviously was trying to create a mating call
But didn’t really have the knack, in fact no knack at all
The thought of doorway-sharing with this cretin seemed absurd
But here he was all horny like a virginal lovebird
His imposing acrobats displayed magnificent gyrations
Until she realised he was performing masturbation
As spiders do apparently, before they have their mate
But he hadn’t even courted her or asked her for a date
She tried to disregard him hoping he would move on past
But Melchior was right on course – the die was truly cast
She had to say, he had his points – he was most self-possessed
And every thing he had to give was largely manifest
For Melchior the scheme was hard, he never really knew
If the bride-to-be would love him or turn on him for a chew
You cannot keep a good man down, resolve had won the day
She softened up and gave a hint that he could have his way
No sooner had she tipped the wink, than he was by her side
Helping her to overcome her spinster spider pride
Suddenly she realised she welcomed his advances
The truth be told, she’d never had more than some passing chances
The pace was speeding up by now, there was no more going back
For our two loving arthropods nature was well on track
When all had been accomplished and the curtain had come down
Soraida looked around her and she made a little frown
She didn’t think that Melchior would need to stay till morning
But suddenly he toddled off without a word of warning
While she was in her element, like the cat that got the cream
Her Melchior was poles apart and had run out of steam
While she was still in seventh heaven, dreaming of her offspring
Melchior was traumatised and feeling truly shocking
Notwithstanding her distress he sensed a quite authentic snag
That he’d connected and had contact with an unrelenting slag
Soraida on the other hand thought she had found her champion
Who’d safeguard her through thick and thin, particularly the lampion
Before she could recover from the highlight of her life
Reality just took control and added to her strife
Melchior was not in form, he’d suffered a relapse
A side-effect from women or too much high-life perhaps?
Soraida wasn’t bothered by this temporary hitch
She put it down to Melchior’s inexperienced twitch
But when he didn’t come to life, she really was quite troubled
And when he still refused to budge, her efforts were redoubled
But Melchior had had enough and popped his tiny clog
And all that she could do was just to hail his epilogue
She has no choice but wait a while until her babies hatch
Then she will join her Melchior in a heavenly dispatch
Soraida’s just a tiny cog in the universal wheel
The spiders come, the spiders go – that is this worldly deal.

Photo: Pexels.com / Ray Bilcliff

Copyright: Rosemary McGuire