Wind blows shadows on the floor

as young men sleep in recliners,
mouths open like fly traps
waiting for dinner while they nap
unrelentant in their snores, even though

plaster has grown yellow on the walls
and smoke stains the ceiling,
cigarettes left in ashtrays burning
down, neglected for awhile…

A swallow regards the window,
breaks the glass with its beak
and staggers off like a drunk man trying to fly
while the earth reels slowly around——

and the wind keeps blowing shadows
as young men continue to doze, but nobody
notices new clouds dancing the floor,
the sun trying to cut in.