A poem For My Grandson PoPo
Small Spider in my car catches me unaware,
tickling on my chin.
How did he get in?
So sweet, so cute, what should I do with him?
I’ll stick my head out the car window— at 50 miles per hour
That should be the last of him.
Shoot! There goes my hat.
But not, apparently, still hanging on,
Is my new best friend.