Why is there a brave little toaster sitting along the way?
Looking quite sad and lying askance upon the snowy curbside;
Was there a burnt misunderstanding that popped into dismay
Between the slices at the Manor Burnside?
Who can say which
side won the buttered fray?
A picture frame that might have once held a special place
Now sits alone and deserted upon that odd driveway -
Might the story, left untold, involve a loss of face
Or perhaps, it is simply a mishap left behind on a snowy day
Never making the trip; never to be a gift wrapped in paper
and lace?
Stranger things have happened this long year
Where humanity isolated and made resolute to be in stasis
And all sense and degree of normalcy is masked behind a fear
That human connections of tenderness could be the basis
Where disembodied friends and family now wait - in a virtual
appear.
