The black Mercedes
with the Ayn Rand 
vanity plate
crashed through 
the glass bus stop
and came to rest 
among a bakery’s 
upturned tables.
In the stunned silence,  
fat pigeons descended 
to the wreckage
and pecked at 
the scattered
bread and cake.
The driver slept,
head to the wheel.
The pigeons grew
rich with crumbs.
The broken glass winked.
God grinned.

For breakfast a man must break an egg. Then not all the king's horses and all the king's men can do very much about it.

Past perfect the broken egg no longer breaks, a dead man no longer dies...

And as he spills the broken egg into a frying pan he murmurs, Ah, well, too bad about Humpty Dumpty...