I never could stand those eight-legged creatures.

I flinch whenever I glance at their features.

That's why I couldn't use their name as the title of this poem.

Oh, what I wouldn't do to keep them out of my home!

I can't even stand to see that dreadful word in print--

you know, the one that starts with S, just to give you a hint.

I hate the spring, summer, and fall. That's when they invade my house.

I would actually feel less afraid if I spotted a mouse.

At least mice don't have spindly, long legs and dangle in the air.

They resemble gerbils, so why should I beware?

The Christmas season is my favorite time of year,

because the cold weather makes those eight-legged things disappear.

Of course they're not really gone for good, the little buggers.

They're just lying in wait, like ultra-tiny muggers,

waiting to rob me of my peace of mind, come spring.

If only they knew the chilling fear that they bring.

It's a terrible feeling to have a phobia so crippling

that I feel shock waves run through my system, like waves rippling.

But it's comforting to know that other people get that same nervous feeling

when they see one of those things scuttle across their bedroom ceiling.