Under its calm, ironic title, "Peace plan" imagines a gun as a mouth and asks what that mouth ought to be doing. The opening is flat and strange: "We rose early for bullets," as though gathering ammunition were an ordinary morning chore, like fetching bread. Then "one flew off," a small, almost casual line that hints at how easily violence slips out of anyone's control.
The real turn comes in the second half. The speaker pictures a better kind of mouth, one that "should beg to eat / and learn all languages." That's a mouth that needs, asks, and listens. The gun does the opposite: it smokes, and it is "illiterate," unable to understand anyone, yet it still "welcomes absence," meaning death and emptiness.
The mood is quiet, dry, and quietly angry. The speaker doesn't shout. Instead, the tight, spare lines make the wish for talk over violence feel urgent and sad.