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The Dilemma

What to do, 


What to do? I wonder 

Staring at the finely spun border. 

I could pass through, but no. 


What to do? I think 

Glaring at the occupant, black as ink. 

Beat it with a broom? Too brutal. 


What to do? I deliberate 

The eight-legged creature’s fate 

As it happily sits in its home. 


What to do? I muse 

The spider’s presence I could excuse. 

If only it didn’t hang in the way. 


As it catches a fly, I sigh at the state. 

I’ll never get the mail at this rate. 

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