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 was, after all, a fork.

Notes:

This poem is part of a special section of Poetry magazine's May issue

  • Eleanor Ross Taylor, "Kitchen Fable" from Captive Voices. Copyright © 2009 by Eleanor Ross Taylor.  Reprinted by permission of Louisiana State University Press.

  • Source: Captive Voices (Louisiana State University Press, 2009)

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