Alone in my office at home, the only one online
Tending to my inbox with only it as my company
I can not recall when it first joined me
But I found myself quite fond of it, strangely
Legs like crooked fingers idly tapping underneath my bookshelf
Tentatively peeking out, seeing my upside down face
I sit at my desk for hours before the sheer white screen,
Knowing it’s there, waiting
With icky skin sticking to my black plastic chair
And growing misanthropy to email correspondents,
It would weave silk paths next to me I could not see
Brushing passed still made me retch
It’s a brown thing with spindly long legs and a face on its body
It seems bored, almost blasé, the mouth a thin tight line
Waiting for flies and for quiet, like its kin
My pale thin fingers tap over the keys
I try to ignore its gaze
But I can't help but keep
Watching it, as it’s watching me
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