BARBS

We have a cactus garden. We have one or two of these. I used to know their names but no more. I tried to pick a weed that was huddling up to one and the unnamed cactus stuck the heck out of me.

Where's the appreciation? The gratitude? But that's the way cactuses are. A bloody bubble immediately shot out from my finger. It was sore. For about five minutes. Then relief.

That's the kind of barb I like. The zinger. Like a one line put down. It hurts but doesn't linger.

The festering wound of a thorn from a bougainvillea is the worst. It hurts on impact. It breaks off relatively easy into the skin. And can hurt for days. The first cut, as the song says, may not be the deepest, but the collateral damage has sent people to the doctor.

That's the kind of barb I don't like. The fester. The slam you received and couldn't think of an immediate response. In Frost's "The Hired Man" one character years later was still thinking of a response to offer a young worker who had zinged him about building a load of hay.

Still the worst kind may be from the prickly pear or paddle cactuses. The unseen. Tiny bristles that you didn't feel that attached themselves to your fingers and buried will be discovered in a short time. It's like glass just under the surface. The trouble is, you can't see the bristles because they are so tiny. But they will get your attention. Kind of like that irritable, annoying person in the cubicle next to you, in the house next door, in your classroom. All it takes is a rub of the wrong way, and you've been pricked.

Are there any good thorns? Any good stickers? Bristles or barbs? None that I've found. It makes me long for Hawaii where I hear there are zero. But I think they were talking about the plants and not the people.