A Crumby Mess

The chips have fallen
on the floor with a crunch
and the bowl's clatter.

The crumby mess is made worse
by the party, the celebration, those
not watching where they're going --
their footsteps grind potato
into dirt into carpet.

Where is the maid?

We have none for we are poor.

Who will tidy the mess?

No one:

those who see it watch
from behind closed windows,
shake their heads slowly, bowed.

Crumbs conceded
to the dogs, the only hope
for damage control.

Let them eat cake instead.