It’s got to be four o’clock somewhere,

time to be civilized, and not think about

spiders or big worms coming out of the wall.

No rhyme or reason, but maybe a scorpion

or a gargantuan tarantula along a road in

Arizona. Surely it is time to finally finish off

the shortbread from Christmas, the puffy

little macaroons, pistachio and raspberry,

with a cup of that tea from Canada, King

Cole. No thoughts of black widows or

brown recluse, just remember that blackberry

cobbler and rice pudding from the deli that

would now be waiting for a midnight snack

if it hadn’t been eaten already, at noon.