meat casserole

be aware

there are men falling from maples

red and drained

for the arbor was no armor

which is close to love in french

even though they never spoke it

with their tongues stuck in others’ mouths

who never learned their language

and sat at dinner

peeling back like the wood of the chairs

or just potatoes

that produce thin crisps of themselves

that could assault in seconds

despite not having the hunger to make it there

and always being too tired

after a meal

to do anything less than sleep

for a little too little

yet still

too long

because the dreams ooze back

with all that is longed for

and all that remains short

like the smallest branch

that stays in arm’s reach

with a jump of the heart

and finally flying legs

that leave left overs

that few will consume

having already moved on

to other foreign mouths