It would seem that men
have a different relationship to crumbs.
They like to see them on the breadboard
with a fair scattering across the surfaces.

They seem to need crumbs to be there.
Even when you clear them away,
clean every one off the board,
wipe every surface before you leave,

on your return, they will be there.
Crumbs all over again,
with maybe even a buttery knife
and a jar of marmite with its lid off.

You wonder if this is supposed to be a piece of art,
an installation based on still life:
“crumbs scattered on board
with unlidded marmite and buttery knife”.

Maybe you are frustrating his artistic talent
constantly wiping away his attempts.
This could be a work in progress to be left day after day,
for weeks, months even, until it is complete,

when it can be moved, on a day without wind,
into the Gallery of Modern Art,
displayed with his artist’s statement
about waste, poverty and frustration.

Who knows what might happen.
If he was feeling hungry, and fancied
a simple meal of bread and butter with  marmite
maybe Saatchi would buy it.

But of course, men don’t say.
And until they do
you carry on
wiping all their crumbs away.

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