The Debris

The broom hit something hard and small.

I pushed the fridge against the wall.

Between the lint and the grit of sand,

I found the city in my hand.

A slice of plastic, red and white.

We bought it on a Tuesday night.

The crust was thin, the air was cold.

We weren't yet trying to be bold.

It’s cracked across the phone number.

A relic from a heavy slumber.

I should throw it in the bin.

I’m not sure where to begin.