Murder in the Bathroom — A poem
BY B.W. HARRIS
The bathroom is filthy; my will is strong.
A spider staring from the corner of the ceiling, doing no wrong.
A brown recluse who’s starving at the art of reclusion.
Its presence here can’t be a mere illusion.
Buddhist tenents come pouring into my mind:
“I will be patient; I will be kind.”
I will fetch a glass and a Styrofoam bowl.
I will capture this spider and protect my soul.
I joust it down with the stick of a vacuum,
That most would have just used to cast it into,
The damnation of dust in plastic entombed.
Its landing is perfect; its legs are intact,
It scurries towards me, but not to attack!
It was full of love for my electric broom,
Coming to me like Lassie to Timmy’s room.
No murder is allowed in this monk’s bathroom.
I capture the spider with gentle ease.
“Hello, little lady, I’m going to set you free
In the garage where you won’t be a threat,
But can still feed on the more vexing pests.
This, I know, I won’t regret.”
I return to the bathroom and resume,
My chemical assault on the toilet’s base.
So lovely and clean, I can see my benevolent face!
So smitten with me for not smiting the spider,
I’m almost done now, just a little longer.
As I spray and scrub, my heart is full of the spider’s love.
I feel so good for being a ward of nature,
I should give a TED Talk; it would make a great lecture!
About how wonderful I am to all the little critters,
About how I don’t kill something just because I can,
About how I am so calm and understand…
O, shit!
I just sprayed two more spiders with bleach
The hope of nirvana, now gone, my soul beseech.
I stomp them out with the bunt of my boot to kill their pain.
Murder in the bathroom, a weekly refrain.
…
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