(I wrote this poem after two straight weeks of seeing a plastic fork abandoned in my work parking lot. After a week of walking past it each day, the idea of writing an ode popped randomly into my head. So, here’s to you, plastic fork. May you rest in pieces.)
Ode to the fallen fork
Your look was forlorn as you just laid there,
I walked by and took heed of your still form,
No spoon in sight, just prongs piercing the air,
Stubborn in your defeat from morn to morn.
Many a car did crush you that first week,
as from their jobs the people came and went.
Your persistence a force to reckon with,
Plastic courage during a time most bleak,
Unsure where the food you were with was sent,
Broken splinters, now nothing but a myth.
Each day I saw you I remained in awe,
That Facility Services left you.
Black remnants of happier times I saw,
Yet your shards grew smaller, faded in hue.
I wondered what meal you accompanied,
No place among a smoothie or soup,
Perhaps with Chinese or deli-style eats,
A meal demanding you with urgent need.
Suddenly knew I must be in the loop,
Your place was amid the finest of meats!
The clues—they fit— it could be no mistake.
A sturdy handle and cultured presence,
This fork was fit to weld premium steak,
Among well-dressed, hungry women and gents,
Yet fate turned its head in a cold parking lot,
where the mighty fallen met its bitter end.
As the wind grew strong, a legend it took,
I dreamt of a time where once you were sought.
Blue cheese steak with shrimp you would surely tend,
If the chapter hadn’t closed on your book.