Snowdrift Cart

Behind the store, where snow lay deep,

a shopping cart, half in its sleep.

One wheel, a bent and frozen thing,

would never turn, would never sing.

The metal cage, a rusted brown,

against the white, a skeletal crown.

It tilted back, a silent lean,

a piece of order, now obscene.

No hand to push it, no goods to hold.

Just sat there, empty, stiff, and cold.

Like something left, a forgotten vow.

It waited, stuck there, even now.