Kitchen Fable

Eleanor Ross Taylor (2010)

The fork lived with the knife
     and found it hard—for years
took nicks and scratches,
     not to mention cuts.

She who took tedium by the ears:
     nonforthcoming pickles,
defiant stretched out lettuce,
     sauce-gooed particles.

He who came down whack,
his conversation, even, edged.

Lying beside him in the drawer
     she formed a crazy patina,
the seasons stacked—
     melons succeeded by cured pork.

He dulled; he was a dull knife,
while she, after all, a fork.