A tasty deviation from
the defeatist persuasion,
signaling victory with finger ‘V’s,
abounds around the lull in war
and Christmas trees.

Murky is the meaning,
muddled in the message,
without a firm direction;
but huddle close
to the host
for a nice chunk
of broken suggestion.

Hide the face from
the fingers and linger
in the peace,
the body warmth warms
the body count until
there’s a softer bit
of release.

Who knew it’d matter,
with questioning eyes glowing
while plum limps
and yellowed teeth chatter?