'Spiders' by Lyn Martin

A spider has eight black, crawling, hairy legs

Pointed bums and antennae

Like horns

Like television aerials

To pick up other spiders

On their radios.

And to trap in their webs

Like wires from electric pylons

Their food flies

I’m frightened of spiders

They make me feel itchy

A spider is like anger in me:

If I have a big black spider

On my belly

Then I’m angry

Like a bulb that blows


The spider is my anger

Crawling like thousands of electric cables

Live and sparking

Loud and smashing

Like hundreds and hundreds

Of shouting, stamping, spiders.