david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

my pet tarantula

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I saw my pet tarantula crossing the highway about a mile down the road.
Out in west Texas. Where the road is so long and straight and flat it was easy
to see my pet tarantula crossing the road. I got to him before he was clear across,
and pulled over, and stopped, and got out, and walked up to him and said hello.

He had no idea he was my pet tarantula––I told him I had named him Edward,
becasue that’s the name that just popped inside my head one day. He kept
walking across the road, somewhat Gruffily I thought––and said again that
he had no idea he was My pet tarantula, and would just as soon keep it that way.

I said, Fine. Have it your way. And drove off. I’ll admit, a bit disappointed and
insulted.

Then I realized, well, hell, he can still be my pet tarantula whether he
knows about it, or not.

In my mind, his Is still my pet tarantula, wherever he is, and I wish him well.
In his mind, well, I probably don’t exist. I hope he doesn’t have some restentment
about it anyway. What did I ever do to him?

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