Or plod across a bowl of curry?
It spins its silk in tensile grey
And hides in haberdashery.
Have you watched one weave its web
Or lie there and pretend it's dead?
Of ugly, beastly ergonomics
It features large in Boys Own comics.
For those about to fill the tub, look out!
Each spindly leg will make you shout.
It hauls itself up by the chain
Or shelters just below the drain
Behind the tap, along the gap,
They really are innumerable
So don't you slip, and don't you fall
It'll be your funeral.