Beneath the house is a tennis ball I’m failing to reach.
A sacred space, a different world a house wife will never breach.
Filled with nasties I cannot bear.
Spiders as such, a terrain, I will not share.
With a broom stick, the tennis ball I try to tap,
reaching in as close as I can, there’s still a hefty gap.
Spiders eyes staring back at me.
The terror, the pain, I’m trapped, I’m never free.