Toilet Spider

In the throes
of morning sickness,
what was left of the banana
and creamed wheat
graced my chin
and the off-white rim,
sitting on the
side of the tub
wondering when it
was all going to end,
when I noticed him
or her, making its
home between the
porcelain cistern and
the peeling plaster.
Normally, I’d scream
grab the closest shoe
and put an end to
the eight-legged-freak’s
minuscule existence.
But that day, whether it
was weakness of body
or mind, or both.
I chose to watch. It
jumped from wall to
throne to floor to pipe
building its octagonal
quarters. I wondered where
fly breath got its seemingly
unending energy as
my loving parasite sucked
what was left of mine
away from me. But what I
pondered most was
what bothered me
more. The fact that
there was a spider
behind my toilet, or
that my bathroom
warranted a toilet spider?