Don't go looking for a tidy story here, because the poem doesn't offer one. It works more like a set of puzzling pictures placed side by side. An idea is sent off on an errand, as if it were a small worker with a job to do. Snow is pasted onto "its brother," which suggests something being stuck to its own kind, flimsy and a bit absurd. Then comes the odd claim that "class fidelity has been a potato" given to "the thieves of rust."
The words hint at big themes: loyalty, social class, decay, theft. But the poem never explains how they connect. A potato is humble and ordinary, so it may point to something plain and loyal being handed over to those who take what is already corroding. That's an inference, and the poem leaves it open.
The speaker's feelings are hard to pin down. The tone feels dry, playful, and slightly mocking. The mood is cool and puzzling, inviting you to enjoy the strange sounds and images rather than solve them.