Veiled Mercy


Veiled Mercy

Home after a summer hike, a picnic and a swim,
while taking off your sun hat and dusting off its brim,

you find a tiny spider who has caught a ride—
one who would be better off if he’d remained outside.
Of course you cause a fracas, so upset I cannot quash it,

demanding that we find the harmless bug and promptly squash it.
When I respond with reason, saying it’s benign,
as usual you discount any argument that’s mine.
You won’t be contradicted, insisting out of spite
that the tiny hitchhiker is bound to take a bite.

Handing me a tissue, you demand I do the deed
before the evil insect has the chance to breed.
But, tired of your edicts, I even up the score.
I gently swathe it in the Kleenex and toss it out the door.

 

Prompt words for today are seal, quash, spider, fracas and swim.

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