Forgotten Ground Regained

Soft City

Bread and breadknife, like the best of friends,Nap in the night kitchen, and neither seeSnow taking the city by storm.The flakes fill the sky, falling softLike the crumbs coming off a cut loaf.The houses, having no home to run to,No space where snow has not spread,Must stand sentry as the flakes spin down.And if some tidy-minded titanDecided to sweep the whole street up,The crumbs and buildings, the cars and bushes,All so like dust, into his outsized dustpan, Who would be any the wiser?
Copyright © Paul D Deane, 1999
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