Napoleon

oh

damning, that

portrait of a reproduction of that
portrait of

Napoleon!

he is too great for our humble kitchen-dining-bed-washroom. he is
standing
there grinning
in a dashing
grin

all the nobility. oh yes. we sleep here at
night wrapped in
one another and

when you are
bold enough to roar out the wind of
word you
have never

the nerve
to tear down
that awfully

sophisticated portrait
so artistically rendered
with-

nothing that they have fashioned
out of english

oh and you say;

because your mother sent it to you with a note in French "son you never should

have left Paris"

the
children
outside are cracking baseballs to put out the moon. we are rough now rough and serrated and the spaces between Napoleon's eyes
on the countertop which is our bed and our best wine:

are as familiar to you
as my eyes when they
are happy