Ode To The Fork Poem by Tentative Poet

You taste the meat before me
Feel the medium-rare texture of
The steak, its juices oozing

All over your tines
Its aroma reaches you first
My culinary ambassador

I like your odd shape
Your elegant curved-back neck
Almost like a swan's

I love your shine as you
Lay quietly among your brothers
Awaiting our beck and call

To team with the others
The knife and the spoon
And serve us a good meal

Look how far you've come!
Wasn't your grandfather long
and sharp and pointed?

Thrown through the air
To bury himself crudely
In the flanks of animals

Tasted the blood
Of enemies, then
Raised in victory

Then there's your uncle
Does good work on a farm
Pitching hay to cows

You, a poor shadow
Domesticated
Like the household dog

Civilized
Now you stab dead meat
Now you pierce roasted flanks

O you fork,
you

At least fare better than
Your distant cousin
The skinny toothpick, whose

Sole mission is to skewer
Tiny pieces of fruits, or pick food scraps
From between teeth