That’s how many legs I count on you
As we stand motionless in a standoff
Inside the narrow walls of my kitchen.
Hard to avert my eyes
For fear of your movement,
You must be a fast little bugger.
Quite frankly, I loathe the thought of your movement
Your segmented body pulsing so sickeningly
To the rhythm of my heart of hate.
All those extra legs,
I envision them on my skin
And, oh my God, I’m about to retch!
Your alien form
You don’t belong in my kitchen.
You don’t belong in my world!
What is the meaning of unnatural?
It’s not like you climbed out of a test tube
Like one of Dr. Frankenstein’s reject experiments,
Proceeding to find your way specifically to me.
No, you were placed on this Earth like me.
At one time there was probably some eighty-four leg monstrosity…
For the sake of our lunch
Let’s assume it was eggs after that.
That’s how little I know.
But you started small,
Grew from that,
Going where you want,
Eating what you want,
And peeing where you want.
So who am I to say you are unnatural?
I may not be comfortable with extra appendages
But you’re comfortable in your own beauty.
It’s not my right to kill.
If I can adopt that sentiment,
Soon I can understand.
From understanding comes love.
As for right now,
You do have your place in the world,
If not necessarily in my kitchen.