I don’t know from Colorado spiders, but this large one
that’s been at the bottom of the bathtub some hours
can’t bite me anyway through a plastic cup or cardstock.
It skitters around, unaware, I think, that these walls lead
to where it wants to be. My housemate slides open
the back screen door for our processional to the grass.
I release it, hope, belatedly, that the birds won’t notice.
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