just a small plate

finally at five o'clock
you say, that's it,
i can't eat anymore.
you stumble away from
the table and roll
onto the couch,
but you have little
control of your limbs
and so roll onto the floor,
i'm done, finished,
you say, wiping
gravy from your mouth.
you move your arm
down to your belt
to loosen it up a notch
or two. you let out
a load groan while trying
to kick your suddenly
tight shoes off. you see
someone's legs walking
into the room, then
hear a voice say,
okay, now who here
wants a nice big slice
of warm cinammon apple pie
with a scoop of ice
cream. from the floor,
you reach out
to tap the ankle
of the woman carrying
the pie which makes
her look down at you.
pie? she says, just a
small plate you tell
her, whispering,
and if you could
leave it here next
to my head with a fork.