The Fork

Read Write Poem's NaPoWriMo #23 Odd Couple

The Fork

I am that restaurant, that one
where people go to do and to be
seen doing in the poshest of places.
I contain them:
the genuine adulterous lovers
the legitimate deceitful businessmen.
Oh, the things I could say
about who comes alone
about who meets whom
about who leaves how.
I am that restaurant.

I am that table, the one
in the corner, where people
have their most private
public events.
I cover them:
the crossed fingers of the crooked promise
the wandering fingers of the indecent proposal
the occasional kiss.
Oh, the things I could say
about who meets here behind the greenery
about what one man tells three different people
on three different days
I am that table.

I am the fork, the one
that these lovers and doers use
to bring the food into their bodies.
They choose the restaurant,
they choose the table,
but me they just accept without noticing.
But I notice.
I touch their tongues,
I feel their lips,
I resist their teeth.
I taste the tang of their lies.
I know the sweetness of the truth.
I know who should be here and who should not,
who is genuine and who is false.
Oh, the things I could say,
about young women's innocent duplicity
about men's sincere infidelity
about entreprenurial altruism
about restrained anger
and, occasionally, about true love.
I am that fork.