Ages

Following a trail of
Stale breadcrumbs to its source
Is not quite the same as
Fighting a constant force.

Of course, bread can twice-bake,
But dough can’t come from toast;
And that’s the tragedy
That troubles you the most.

A burnt birthday cake taste;
Bitter garlic butter:
More telling than any
Tale you care to utter.

What an ill investment:
To photograph a smile
To mock you from a frame;
To mock you all the while

While you toil to rebuild
What you gleefully crushed,
Watched by awed hordes of friends
And enemies, all hushed.

Come, slay your Minotaur;
Follow your unwound weft
To a cold Cretan dawn,
Of a jumper bereft.

Appears in:
Rhymes for all times [2015]

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