truce

you spot
a squirrel
on a bench
lying down.
his small grey
head
on an acorn.
it's hot.
the sun is a
white balloon
that won't burst.
he doesn't
care, this thin
squirrel. in his eyes
are the words,
go ahead dog
come kill me.
but the dog too
is tired.
he is in the shade
on the porch.
dumb
with indifference
his head
almost in his
water. his tail
is still, his ears
down.
he likes having
a reason to not
give chase.