Now you’ve done it. See her hackles
rise. The narrowed eyes. She bristles,
sprouting tiny spikes, a spiny
porcupine, or prickly pear,
her hair a nest of nasty thistles.

Hisssss! She bares her teeth. She sputters,
sprays your face. The milky spittle
stings. Her fingers, tipped with rusty
nails, a tetanus threat, won’t let you
go. You must be needled, nettled,
nagged until your debt’s been settled.

Better let her win. She’s bitter,
battle-hardened, barbed. She never
drops her guard. At home she huddles
in her mud-hole, one eye open,
dozing, twitching, itching, hoping.