Goshdarnit, here I go again,
And I hardly finished with brunch,
Just back, comfy in my drawer, when
Someone else decides they want lunch.
On a fresh napkin I am laid,
Along with a spoon and a fork,
Sunlight flashing from my clean blade,
Sharp, and ready to go to work.
I hear the toasterís pop nearby,
And I can even smell the bread.
Into the mustard jar go I,
To apply a nice even spread.
Liverwurst and a slab of cheese
To the sandwich are added now.
I slice right through, nice as you please -
Other utensils donít know how.
I do it nicely, wonít complain,
For Iím used to this around noon.
As usual, it leaves a stain,
But itís to the dishwasher soon.
The spoon canít spread very well,
Being more useful around soup,
Shaped so, almost like half a bell,
Itís also handy as a scoop.
The funny fork, tines in a row,
Is great for stabbing into meat,
But it canít do my job, I know -
Sloppy slicing is never neat.
Just an all around simple knife,
With a slightly serrated blade,
I havenít drawn blood in my life,
Despite all the slices Iíve made.
© By RickMack (firstname.lastname@example.org)