The Reprieve

The spider couldn't find a grip

upon the porcelain’s icy lip.

Its legs were frantic, long and thin,

sliding back to where the holes begin.

I held the handle, cold and chrome,

watching him struggle in his home.

The drain was open, dark and wide,

with jagged teeth of steel inside.

I stepped away and let him be,

a sudden, shaky kind of mercy.

The water stayed inside the pipe.

The fruit of him was not yet ripe.