I’ve made friends
with the half-dead
spider
in my bathroom;

we watch each other’s
attempts at crawling
every morning-

him, in any
general direction,
and me,
to ease my stomach
into the toilet bowl.

he cheers for me
as I retch
and retch
and throw up
a little
stomach bile,

spit,
wipe my mouth,
thank my audience;

he’s my
best friend,
but he
doesn’t drink
unfortunately.