Framed in the rear view mirror,
a child dropped at school pauses, gazing at
something, on the edge of the curb,
she stops another, and points it out.
Bus-unloaded children quickly
create a sketchy huddle.
Looping back into the cycle,
getting a better look, it clarifies,
black and tan and legged,
a baby, though larger than
a half dollar. Furred and placid.
Excitement and squeals produce
no notice or movement,
except in childish reactions.
Vice Principal arrives.
Gently his hand reaches,
children leap back, screaming,
as the young tarantula
steps onto its newfound haven,
and is transported, elsewhere,
teaching a lesson.

Erin Moen
5/22/03
Copyright 2003 ©