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Fork fell in love on a tablecloth in the middle of winter
Beef and noodles were being served, but he barely noticed
A gorgeous newcomer was on the table, pink and fabulous.
That cannot be a rose! He whispered to spoon, who ignored him.

Spoon and he had been an item once upon a time, rainbows ago.
Is that a rose? He queried knife. Knife slapped hard against his tines
As they pushed vast quantities of beef down a grotesque man’s gullet
The man was corpulent and gassy; he certainly needed no more beef.

Rose winked at him, catching him off guard. He was gob smacked.
I love you he mouthed to the pink rose. She giggled, a flirt she was.
We never saw either of them again, they were renegades and daring.
Fork and rose ran off that night, never to grace a dinner table again

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