Poetry

The armoured ones on many legs

On cold days they come inside, hunker down

and have a chat in the corner of the room.

Sometimes, they brazenly waltz into the kitchen

sniffing around for scraps and crumbs, inching

around the washing machine and the fridge,

pausing if we stray too close and offer a hand.

One even tried to have a bath once;

lucky the taps weren’t left on to accidentally

swirl it away down the plughole.

I admit, it was alarming at first to think

we had house guests who never announced their coming,

simply turning up whenever they felt like it.

Now, they’re as much a part of the household as us.

But I will move them out from underfoot

if they’re in danger of getting squished.