Sometime after sunset, they crisscross their circus net between

Driver’s side mirror and rubber window frame and wait

To feast on midnight corpses and early morning leftovers

Of befuddled old flies and cannibalized post-coital males

 

With daylight comes the driver, who twists on his ignition

And sticks his fingers through the meticulous film

So he can watch the asphalt unwind behind without a filter

 

 

But there are times when the driver is forgetful

Flustered by the swarthy flirtations of the Telecom repairman

Or the urgent call from ElderCare to report that his mother wants her winter coat

 

On those days when the driver only notices the delicate bridgework

As he’s rolling through the first stop sign, jolted with each panicked tick of his watch

He merges onto the motorway and waits for the wind to carry away that subtle sticky trap

 

But as he races along at 100 k, still the slender silks remain

Fluttering through flashes of sunlight

A ghostly white kite arched against the sky

 

When he pulls off at last in Grey Lynn

The spiders’ threads rest again, whole but hanging limp

Stretched and relaxed like the heel flaps on an old pair of nylons

Or the condom discarded under a bench in Western Springs Park