After a month away, the house untouched,
we turn the key in the lock and flip on the light
to find baby squirrels barreling across the wood floors,
tackling the curtains, scrambling through the heating vents.
 
We count twelve altogether,
a furry football squad making tiny touchdowns on the sofa.

We stand amazed, listening to the squealing scurry
high-pitched like piccolos, a half-time marching band of rodents.
Then with tender traps and peanut butter,
the shooing of a broom,
we drive the little linebackers out into the autumn woods
and declare we’ve won the game.


© by Gabriella Brand.
Used with the author's permission.