the frighteningly passionate last stand of the mating tarantula

the frighteningly passionate last stand of the mating tarantula
by matt schumacher
Ladies and gentlemen, tarantula breeding season
Has crept down from the California foothills:
The cobalt blue variety promises to beguile its mate,
And the Mexican red-legged female
Holds the ogling male enthralled
In the throes of true arachnid love.
And in the middle of the pitch black, sultry night
At twenty nine palms, marines in training feel something
From the desert itching slightly at their sleeve,
Wanting to enter their uniform, to get closer to the skin,
And hear legs skittering across the dunes…
Night vision goggles reveal what’s crawling all over them:
Thousands of spiders as far as their surprised eyes can see,
Amidst the hairy air of horny spider courtship. Their fellow soldiers
Are covered. So are they. Despite their training, some are
Freaked out in the extreme, yet amused,
Dropping their rifles to scream as frightened children
Scream on rollercoasters, and this is a tribute
And salute of sorts, to the anti-war of spidery arousal
And campaign of unrestrained, eight-legged love–
To the unsettling, yet sexy protest of the wild desert tarantula.