Aaron Sandberg


The spider trapped in
my car, wherever he hid,

spun sad
webs even

after I had
brushed them away each

colder morning from
my warm vent

and sent
my window down some

to give
him the second chance

a third and
fourth time.

Aaron Sandberg has eaten the plums you were saving in the icebox and is not sorry about it—like not even a little bit.