on tenterhooks

The yogurt's so cold
it temporarily freezes my teeth
as I stand mostly naked in the kitchen
forcing down a snack even though
I'm not hungry. Turning the refrigerator down
seems like a good idea, but I'm not
known to act on those too frequently;
I let the notion pass downstream
floating lazily on the current of my mind
when something else distracts me.

It's a hole in the window screen in front of me
big enough for a small animal
such as a squirrel to fit through with ease.
The duct tape repair job is peeling
from the edges of the portal
lending free passage to the moths
who've been swarming around the lights at night.
There's a roll of tape up in my bedroom, but again
that sounds like too much work. It's not that I'm lazy
it's that the government has been dutifully paying me
to do nothing for the past eight months
and I wouldn't want to let them down
by breeching my end of the contract.

But, as usual, I go back to that hole.
It was chewed open by a squirrel
two summers ago-- a squirrel which
I've had the awkward honor of meeting
in my kitchen on more than one occasion
while walking in the front door
during one of its dry goods raids.
When the first screen was torn
we thought it was a fluke.
We closed that window and chalked it up
to chance. Four other windows
wound up being shut, however
after the persistent critter showed
how determined it was to break and enter.

It must've been the same one over and over.
It hasn't happened since that summer
so I suppose it moved along or died.
It forces me to believe that animals
are more than just instinct and muscle;
some of them have character, have souls--
even the lowly gray-furred tree rats
that chitter and chatter and lose buried nuts.

My spoon scrapes the last of the yogurt
from the side of the container
and slides into my mouth
as I think back to that summer
and the squirrel that got the best of us.
I use my tongue to remove a raspberry seed
from the canyon in one of my molars
and stumble towards the stairs
where a new book, a new world
a new distraction awaits
while I cringe and weigh the costs
of losing two more lives.

Even the mighty Ohio
catches fire sometimes
and its entitled.



Curently reading:
"I Am Legend" by Richard Matheson.