He said a mouthful
A storm of sentences colliding into our courtesy
We tried to catch our breath, gasping for the right
response
But heavy words chased the air from the room

He said a mouthful
He didn’t chew on them nearly long enough
We hoped he’d swallow his pride like we swallowed
conflict
But diplomacy played no part in his diet

He said a mouthful
Too much for him to keep a tight seal
Spitting darts no one had time to dodge
We licked our wounds rather than wage a war
of tongues

He said a mouthful
Candidly, cuttingly, clumsily,
We were too shocked to buffer the ripples
Repercussions blunted the point of remediation

He said a mouthful


B. Toner. January 2024

Gravity isn't always enough to keep my feet on solid ground.
Stress rises like heat, warping my balance.
But dedication can guide this force to target.

Gravity isn't always enough to stock rain for the green.
Chemicals dissolve into mainstream, tinting nature off colour.
But restraint can filter this energy to cleanse.

Gravity isn't always enough to tie hearts together.
Pride drives loving presence into isolation.
But faith can assist this power to synchronized pulses.