in the public square
you are not to be questioned
just admired
for your dark demonstrations
of being
the hanging black spider waves its life at you
perhaps the arachnid lover is demoralized
by your hidden beauty
hard to tell
you cringe under its radiant otherness
in the public museum
take the tour backwards
let the man with the megaphone mouth
spin his webs not from the center out
but outer to inner
inwardness opens windows in closed walls
be kind to the blank eyed watchers
here is a beautiful oil on canvas
there is a spider in the corner
that no one notices
for it has no frame
its eight legs tremble
The man in the bus-driver cap
extols her still not living attractions
the ugliness of the moment
is memorized by the whole gallery
only the Picasso remains free
of the taint of paint
A fat woman sighs into my face
threads exude
multiple silky spinnerets
droop from sticky glands
I want out
the way I came in
but am now too endangered
to weave my way out of this
carry out picture palace
Model Town had a cinema a long, long time ago
It used to cost us ten rupees to see a picture show.
Cowboy films and comedies, cartoons and pathe news
And intervals in between for us to visit the loos.
A two-hour show on weekday nights with three on Sundays
Friday was a day of rest when we would go to pray.
And theirs many a model town couple who met beneath its roof
Fell in love and married, which only goes to prove.
That when the television came and the old cinema had to go
Model Town lost a way of life and not just a picture show.