Fork

Here’s to the station fork. And steak knife. 

For the young people who march into my kitchen and select their weapons of choice in anticipation of tucker to come. 

One fork and one steak knife dance out of the drawer. The lowly butter knife ignored. Do you even know what a spoon is? I conclude not. 

Here’s to the cookie’s humour. For it is I who holds the power to make that fork work.  

The steak, the roast. 

The baked potato & the sausage. 

Those weapons rise to the occasion and valiantly wage their war on good tucker in a bid to get food down into the bellies of my men (and women) at speeds unimaginable ’til you see it here. 

But “haha to you” and your silly fork. For tonight it looks like stew! Runny, Gooey stew! The kind Best eaten with a spoon. 

And the irony is not lost on I, as a poor halfsleepy soul pick up his usual weapons only to sit down to a piece of vegemite toast. The fork and steak knife cast aside… Forgotten. Unwanted. 

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2 comments

  1. I hope I haven’t sounded like I don’t eat what I give my co-workers; however I mostly eat what I cook. I sometimes am too full from grazing all day on what I’m making and therefore only sit at the table for the meal time without consuming more. I try to be picky about the food going in given that I really shouldn’t be eating bread and pasta… And the beautiful spaghetti bolognaise I make for them that they tell me they love is altogether too strong for me to digest. So I don’t eat that…

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