The Squirrel

The Squirrel

The squirrel watched me

from the fence.

I had offended

the whole species.

His tiny hands

clutched a nut.

It held secrets

of the universe.

I froze.

I whispered apologies

to the wind.

Maybe the council

heard me.

The chipmunk rolled

its tiny eyes.

Humans are

always ridiculous.

Should I bow?

Should I run?

Should I apologize

in all mammal tongues?

The squirrel leapt

to the tree.

It disappeared,

then returned,

planning a coup.

The pigeons watched,

spectators

at a tragic comedy.

I realized

I was living

in a sitcom

written by animals.

My coffee trembled.

Bread crumbs scattered,

currency in their world.

Maybe this is power,

reminding humans

of their place,

ridiculous

and essential.

I left slowly,

bowing slightly,

avoiding wrath,

honored

to be part

of their invisible world.