The giant spiders are migrating again. 

Their journey is long and perilous 

because they can only travel in nightmares. 

Last night as I dozed fitfully, two of them 

came down the hill, and when they turned off Red Wing Avenue 

I was able to blow out some of their dark, bulbous eyes 

before the shotgun became black smoke rising from my hands 

and a pterodactyl in a bus driver’s cap  

lifted me screaming into the sky. 

Today, as I go about my business— 

stamping ALREADY PAID on all my overdue bills— 

I can feel that it is they who sleep uneasily, 

relishing yet also fearing our next encounter, 

their jaws grinding, their unbearably hairy legs 

twitching in anticipation. 

This time there will be two shotguns 

and a phosphorous grenade, and if all else fails, 

a club wrapped in barbed wire at the big end. 

Let your remaining eyes look upon that 

and tremble, my dreamy darlings…