SPIDERS IN THE OUTHOUSE
by A. Lawrence Vaincourt
It stood beyond the garden, underneath a shading pine
A tiny little outhouse, which I always felt was mine
It has served its function nobly, I am sure, for many a year
'Till my granddad built a bathroom and abandoned it, back here
Where the pine tree helped support it and disguise its many leaks
And my granddad stored, inside it, bits of junk he called antiques
When I was a little shaver I complained, quite sad, one day
That my best friend had a tree house, while I had no place to play
So my granddad moved the junk out, patched some knot-holes in the floor
Put a little paint upon it and wrote "CLUBHOUSE" on the door
Very soon a club was meeting in my outhouse 'neath the tree
And of course I was the leader, since the place belonged to me
Then as spring moved into summer, we discovered one warm day
That the outhouse had, as tenants, some fat spiders, big and gray
Who built their nests in corners to ensnare the buzzing flies
Or sometimes 'cross the doorway, just to catch us by surprise
Now, me and my companions of our Clubhouse were quite proud
And as one, were in agreement, that no girls should be allowed
To profane these sacred quarters, where we boys most days did meet,
To do the things that boys do, for this was our one retreat
Still there was no need to worry, once the news was noised around
That the place was full of spiders, huge and hairy, gray and brown
Why, no girl would venture near it! Yes, of this we were quite sure
And I guess this was the reason why we never locked the door
'Til the day that great-aunt Carey came to stay a week or two
And visit with her kin folk, as old aunts are wont to do
She went strolling through the garden, in a reminiscent way
And she happened on the outhouse, while we children were away
Well she knew its ancient purpose, and her eyesight was quite poor
So she failed to see the "Clubhouse" sign we'd written on the door
There was no one to observe her and the door was open wide
And she felt the call of nature, so great-auntie stepped inside
She sat her down in comfort and behind her latched the door
To perform a private function, as she'd done oft times before.
But just then two fat gray spiders dropped down from overhead
One landed upon auntie's thigh, the other on her head
It's hard to think that someone, at the age of eighty-three
Could scream so loud, or run as fast, or jump as high as she
I am told she cleared the garden hedge with nigh an inch to spare
And wound up in the kitchen, with a spider in her hair
It was thus I gained the knowledge (which I never had been told)
That things that creep and things that crawl are feared by young and old
Of the feminine persuasion; and this fact has served me well
In spots and situations far too numerous to tell
There were incidents in childhood, one or two of which I'll name
When the odds were stacked in favor of some pushy little dame
When a beatle or an earthworm, the argument did sway
And ended all discussion in a full and final way
Today, the modern woman is a wondrous thing to see
She has a black belt in karate and, perhaps, a PHD
And she's sure to win an argument opposed by any guy.
Still, I wonder if those lessons, learned in childhood, still apply?
Are they still afraid of spiders and of things that crawl or squirm?
Will they turn away and shudder at the wriggling of a worm?
And when the dew is heavy on the lushness of your lawn
Will they help you pick up dew worms in the hours preceding dawn?
In the battle of the sexes, with its constant pull and tug,
Does man have a secret weapon in the common little bug?
© 1991 A. Lawrence Vaincourt