The habenero peppers were no accident.

I grew them

especially for you,

to watch you pluck a bright yellow bonnet,

turn it over in your hands like a topaz

or tourmaline, then sink your bicuspids

hard into the flesh, only to throw

it three feet into the air, your mouth

on fire with my revenge, tail stiff

and high as you raced for your burrow

as I laughed, counting the losses

I had suffered at your paws – tulip bulbs,

sunflower heads, sleepy mornings

interrupted by your family arguments

in the tree outside my window…

Me gusto, Senor Squirrel.