Grandma Spider

She awaits my return on the corner of the shed.
Her knobbly legs might clack, excitement at
This huge creature emitting humourless fright!

I bend, unlock the shadow box of scuttling tricks
And skip of moments, the vacant spider space emits
a beacon of dread, she could maybe be on my
helmeted head.

But rationality catches the comical screaming ruffle
of panicky hands ripping at helmet, head, spider webs,
And instead, I wheel in my bike, watchful of her knocking friends,
Amusingly out for a moonlight fright, a scuttling scatter
of human's woeful plight.

So notice now the bowing of the roof, felt for ten years
the pounding of rain, cats, leaves and tiny scuttling feet.
Generations have held domain, whispered scritching claims
The fame of the helmeted fright, the trampling bike...
So drained of irrational fear:
Let generations scritch and clack their progeny tales, and scuttle humans on....