Anxious

Thank you
for holding my hand
when I passed beneath the spider’s web

I know it must have seemed ridiculous to you:

Me, streaked in blood and war paint
passing my spear to the other hand
to grasp your fingers with my right

I know you must have thought my booted heel
would have annihilated its small life
or, at least, the bull whip
would have removed the feeble threat from a distance

But the soles of my steel-toes have holes in them these days
and my arms won’t rotate that well this week
after stacking up all those
eviscerated corpses of
embarrassments
disappointments
and failures
into that pile
to scare off invaders

I know it was silly
and that the tiny, chitinous beast’s fangs couldn’t pierce my mail
let alone the armor

But while your right hand was hiding an indulgent smile,
your left hand was in mine
when I passed beneath the squinching tangle of twitching, too-jointed legs
and stayed there until I was out of their elongated reach

So

I’m off
to wherever that horn is sounding from
to kill whatever that thing screaming is

Thanks again
You’re the best



For Steph. She knows what she did. I think.