“It wasn’t too long after Leonard’s mother had died
the first of the spiders in Leonard’s house he espied;
on eight wiry legs across his ceiling, it stalked
as if some rogue pubic hairs had got together and walked…”
This macabre little story was directly inspired by my recent stay in an old French house, which often begins with the task of hoovering up cobwebs and their occupants, along with the occasional very large centipede. Afterwards, I sometimes think about the insides of the vacuum-cleaner—and all that might reside in there—and then I stop thinking about it sharpish…