Spider-bro chills on my desk-lamp

Patiently waiting for his next catch.

He is a fisherman among the insects,

But he has chosen to fish in the Sahara Desert.

There are no bugs in North Kihei 

This time of year,

He will likely starve. 

Spider-bro looks like a grain 

Of sand from Big Beach.

Despite his size he still rebuilds his web each day,

Like a small child making his bed in the morning.

A twister of dust spins around my room.

His web does not glisten for long.

I clap a nearby fruit fly

That somehow evaded his web before, 

Not this time.

Here, spider-bro, have a snack.