Black Spider Nursery Rhyme

Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet when along came the

hideous spider that burrowed up inside her

in a web that traps a

spider comes here every night,

into a fortress of filth and garbage that reaches to the ceiling.

It rots with food, maggots, storybooks, torn ragged dolls

bearing an uncanny resemblance to the almost-woman

peering at herself with hollow eyes in the mirror. A horrific house of clutter

filled with sickness, rage and something started long ago

inside another house shrouded in shadows.

I whisper my way through yard sales lured by the siren call

of priceless treasures stupid people give away; bro ke n teacu ps,

cracked mirrors, scuffed shoes, old dog collars, mismatched earrings

bottle caps, buttons.

My whole life is laid bare in this fortress made of glorious, damaged goods.

What do you think I am anyway?