Poor spiders, always drowning
The two roasting tin spiders were buried under a rosebush, I decided it would be the respectful thing to do; plus then they would become spider-ghost house guardians, always a useful addition to any household. The other weird thing I discovered one morning in our kitchen was the burnt earwig, standing in the middle of a gas hob, like an insect at Pompeii, a perfect ash statue of itself. 261 Mouse cremations are rarely Observed but here is an apostrophied Corpse on a dried grass mound Waiting for a starting spark 262 Stride through stratus, back to My crumbly house, the sun Also pushes, promises later Heat, as this mist dissipates 263 Drama occurs in the roasting Rack tin when two spiders are Found drowned in the pig’s blood Under the dinner joint 264 There are thirteen folk arts Vital to this industrious cottage Roasting meat is listed third One of six respecting food 265 Mindful preparation of meals Decelerates pace, a