ii

With threaded beads of rain the spiderwebs

raise arch on vaulted arch of eyebrow studs

(say ‘garland fairy lights’ to please the mob),

the micro-metallurgist at each hub

extruding a St Andrew’s cross long-limbed

awaiting prey vibration of its net,

the planes at angles variously trimmed

and layered for a polaroid effect

of integrated air traffic control.

Their tick-plump cousins fatten in the eaves

on flies tucked into cotton cobweb folds

old gauze unravelled like a bandage sleeve,

unsightly yes but what annoys the eye

fly-proofs the house. Unless I am the fly.