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Yerba Buena
by Zoya Marincheva
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Kenny the spider sets up shop
In the corner between two fences
Just above an ebullient patch
of mint stalks.
Kenny, as big as a child's hand
Is a black and yellow,
Ostentatious,
grand web weaver.
The couple of weeks he spends
Clutching the inter-fence air
Strings,
Kenny catches no major food
But, wilted and decompressed,
Finds solace in the mint
When rain batters his signature print.
Then all too soon Kenny is gone
After a night of
torrentially
Spasmatic
downpour.
Arrested in mint aroma,
The yard glistens, the weeds sprawl,
The fig tree erupts in fruit.
Could it be that the mint
Wasn't irresistible after all?
Could it be the rain?
Could have been hunger.
Certainly, unmet expectations
Spam the mood
Like yerba buena.
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