cutlery

Whither the spoons?

Whither the spoons
in my cutlery drawer?
Of spoons it is empty
but it used to hold four.

I checked the dishwasher,
and I scoured the floor
(then scoured it again,
just to be sure).

Whither the spoons
in my cutlery drawer?
Of knives and forks,
I have plenty in store.

But what use is a knife
except as a saw?
And what good is a fork
except as a claw?

Whither the spoons
in my cutlery drawer?
For scooping and stirring,
it’s the spoon I adore.

And should one day you look
at the shallow-bowled moon,
ponder the poet who perished
for want of a spoon.

sporkle

it’s not the way you walk
it’s not the way you talk
it’s the way
that you wield
a spork

queenly exponent
of hybrid cutlery
you make my stomach
utterly
fluttery

one minute,
your pronging
fills me with longing

the next,
you scoop to conquer

it’s driving me bonquers

elegant elision,
practised precision,
your spork
lights the spark
in my heart

Whither Spoons?

Whither the spoons
in my cutlery drawer?
Of spoons it is empty
but it used to hold four.

I checked the dishwasher,
and I scoured the floor
(then scoured it again,
just to be sure).

Whither the spoons
in my cutlery drawer?
Of knives and forks,
I have plenty in store.

But what use is a knife
except as a saw?
And what good is a fork
except as a claw?

Whither the spoons
in my cutlery drawer?
For scooping and stirring,
it’s the spoon I adore.

And should one day you look up
at the shallow-bowled moon,
please ponder the poet who perished
for want of a spoon.