A Small Victory

Cold, the snow squeaked underfoot,
she filled the bird feeder, poor things,
cracked corn, peanuts, thistle and
hemp seeds brought a flutter of wings
all the short day. She stopped work
to enjoy her shy pensioners. When
a bold invader, a squirrel, leaped to
the ledge and hunched in a ball of fur
gobbled the feed, her eyes wept anger. 
One more indignity to weigh down
her grievances, how she cleaned, cooked,
sewed, carried out the ashes, brought in
groceries, washed windows, made beds,
ran for the mail—no one put out
sunflower seeds for her or warmed her
spirit when chilled to the bone.
She thought, I’d like to burn down
the house just to see it disappear,
and then flamed with guilty blush.
She jerked open the door and threw a
cracked plate, wild toss with a true
aim knocked the squirrel ass-over-
appetite into the backyard. She set up
the ironing board and while she waited
for the iron to heat, in a cracked voice
sang a tune of victory she improvised.