A Terribly Sentimental Fork
As unmined silver,
I spent eons in twilight sleep,
rubbed lustrous by seasons,
And learnt much from it.
Thumbless hand,
I’ve been jammed
into tine-bending clay
to gouge holes
for planting jasmine
when a spade wasn’t handy.
Human mistreatment
of their best inventions
led this still-handsome fork
(my classic pattern’s
known as Acanthus
or Aegean weave)
to be employed
prying up old linoleum.
Forks are mentioned
six times in the bible!
Slave of the grip, bound
to spear earthworms
or currants, I have
pedigree, nobility,
but am sans volition.
Today, the brat
in the dotted Swiss pinafore,
plagued by frequent nosebleeds,
used me to stab the cat. I am
scholar, diplomat! striving’s
elongated shape! Yet my fate
is shame. As if pitched here
by some tantrum-prone
god, I’ve lain for days
in the grass where
I was flung.
