Life With Horace

poetry & essays

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High summer in an old house
Occupied by an army of visiting bugs
Brings dreams of parachutes
For those I must evict
The one too many ones
The wrong kind of spider
A waving scuttler scooped up
Elbowed legs and angled hairy parts 
Run the mercy packet to the door
Release the tissue wrapped passenger
And watch it float down to sanctuary
On a bed of violet leaves 


A very old house. In the winter we have critters. Summer brings the bugs The right kind of spiders? Thin bodied long-legged spiders that look like Charlotte.