BURROWING IN



what good fortune in the canyon this morning
down by the Beaver Creek ford where
they're doing the new construction
& the sign says slow

usually i'm lost in the whiz by
of the morning rush
but for once i was driving slowly enough
to see a tarantula crossing the highway
as they do in the fall

i stopped the car & stood in one lane rerouting traffic till it got off
the road

giant spider

with spiky brown hairs
on its punk black abdomen &
a right back leg that it dragged
more than stepped on

run over perhaps
or maybe broken in an earlier
arachnid battle of the minature titans Xochipilli & Pegleg
in a dance to the death

his front feet
arms really
stubbed & padded to protect his face
climbing up
& down gullies & down the gravel bank
on his trek towards the river
or maybe her trek
who knows?

not stopping until hid
in a pocket of rock a couple yards
off the pavement

& there
rested a moment in the still
snowless sun
before winding down
the canyon labyrinth of greasewood
oak brush & narrowleaf cottonwood
and finding soft alluvial earth
to burrow in for the winter

art goodtimes
union of street poets
vincent st. john local / colorado plateau / aztlán
kuksu brigade (ret.) / san francisco