11 February 2008

The huntsman's song

Recently, I moved house. The whole family is now residing temporarily, thanks to the generosity of my in-laws, in a rather lovely, leafy part of northern Sydney. The house has lots of windows, which are great for letting in the view in nice weather, and equally capable of letting in crawlies in crappy weather, such as that of the last week or so.
Last night I had a run-in with such a crawly, which largely involved running around the bathroom, swiping at thin air with a shoe whilst letting out intermittent girly squeals. Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful in my attempts to assert my position on the evolutionary ladder. The spider involved is now probably snickering its ugly head off, wherever it is. And so...

A huntsman's more than welcome to seek shelter from the rain,
As long as one thing's understood: my house is my domain.
And if he should somehow be squashed beneath a well-thrown thong,
Then I can hardly be condemned for doing something wrong.

But there is little need for me to stoop to petty violence,
As long as spidey stays in view, and hangs in frozen silence.
Somewhere that he won't bother me, perhaps up near the ceiling,
So once I spot him, I can lose that icky, creepy feeling.

It makes me shudder, knowing that I don't know where he's hiding
And that somewhere out of sight his ghastly knuckled legs are sliding
Scuttering on bristled toes 'twixt shady corners and dark niches
To suddenly leap from his lair and make me cack my britches.

Stay where I can see you, sweetie.

1 comment:

  1. Speaking of cacking one's britches, I just did.

    Gold, Bruddy. Gold.