Dear Inconsiderate

You’re always dragging on me-- got your sticky icky leavings all pver the place, any place most inconvenient. Always kind of spooky, nervous but defiant too, back up step out, get nose to nose as if to say you’re here for good. I know it’s you, at night, tasting my eyes, making me wiggle and a little itchy squirmy but never squished, somehow… One day there’s one of you, lurking in a corner, the next, a window, under floorboards, cupboards, skittering all over my floor and ceilings and in my clothes so when I undress there you are, sitting like a star right on my breast. Okay. I needed that. To scream. Whack at something so terribly invasive, biting, so terribly unobtrusive, until you leave your icky sticky leavings as bumps all over me. When were you walking over me, in the dark while I dreamed, taking over saying I’m a leaving little spider left.