The Execution

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A large brown spider
Tiptoed over the paper
I was using for logarithms,
Interrupting root e
And I started
To think of death
But closed a lid on him
Watched his minute fangs
His angry waving forelegs
A challenge to the world.
What do we say to the small
Before we kill them?
“Such a shame. What an
Interesting little creature.”
Not hesitation of kindness
But of clinical regret
As drops the guillotine.
All of this
In a second of thought
The perfect arachnid clings
To a silken thread of hope
But it is sliced through
By a tissue, a swift, crunching
Macabre end.
And I can’t help but sink
As I realize
I am now the distant, superior
Cold being.
Take that feeling
And try to do logarithms.

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