The Lady

I saw her by the old porch swing
when first we chanced to meet.
I only caught a glimpse of her
for she was in retreat.
I turned on heel and did the same
with quickened heart and feet.

I wondered where I'd see her next
but hoped I never would.
I opened wide my closet door
and gasped for there she stood
with evil smile on her face.
I knew she was no good.

From head to toe in basic black
tradition's mourning dress.
But, murderous heart! the truth is told
so none who sees need guess
a red bow tie all turned askew
She sports upon her breast.

And lately, by the garden gate
I've felt a presence--her!
And I believe she lies in wait
to make my husband widower.

(c) Ellen Rae 1985

I wrote the poem many years ago. (A fellow student in my poetry class at the time insisted that it was not about a spider, but about the fact that my (then) husband's ex-wife had turned back up in town and was making overtures. She was right, but that's another blog.) But my phobia of spiders still directly correlates to how closely they resemble a Black Widow.

I found a Black Widow in the dumpster yesterday and killed it. This was a big victory for me because heretofore I would never have been able to actually connect myself to a Black Widow, even with a five-foot stick (or broom as the case may be).

When I took trash out this morning, she was there again, alive as ever. So I killed her again. With the same broom. Which was handy because I had left it outside near the dumpster. (It is now the outside broom and will never be allowed in the house again.)

This time I killed her twice. Once with the broom, and once....(wait for it....) With. My. Foot!

Well, really, with my shoe. Which was on my foot. I actually stepped on a dead Black Widow. I am woman!