Remind me never again to attempt a poem without a proper idea...
The lonely dinner fork lies quietly
To the left of the bright white dinner plate
It waits determinately for its little friend
The salad fork
The soup bowl leers from atop
The dinner plate's sloping sides
It casts its shadow menacingly over
The dinner fork
The napkin, folded neatly, sits pretty inside
The water glass, warping its body wide
It quivers and waves, mocking with hysteria
The lonesome fork
The red wine sparkles mysteriously
In the crystal glassware who's shimmering
Together they shun the dull and used;
The rusting fork
The salad fork is finally laid
Warmly to the dinner fork's side
They mirror the unity of their companions on the right
The spoon and knife
BTW I'm not drunk. Or high. Or crazy. Just... Thought I'd try something new.
i like it.
ReplyDelete(:
O_O are you sure about the not high part?
ReplyDelete:P Jks, jks. Interesting enough. :)
Really? Well, thanks.
ReplyDeleteYes, I'm sure. As a matter of fact, I was washing dishes right before I wrote this.