A Time Traveler's Tale: The Utensil War
Book I: The Summons of the Muse
O Muse, descend from lofty starry sphere,
And lend thine aid to sing what men hold dear:
Not wars of kings, nor blood on Pharsal’s plain,
But forks and spoons that strove for sovereign reign.
When knives did rule the board with iron hand,
And lentils leapt like rebels through the land,
There came a wight from future’s secret shore,
Who brought strange engines ne’er beheld before.
“Behold,” quoth he, “these prongs of tempered might,
Shall pierce thy meats and set thy board aright!
No more shall broth upon thy toga stray,
Nor figs escape like traitors in dismay.”
The Senate stared: “What witchcraft dost thou bring?
A trident small? Is that Neptune’s petty thing?”
Book II: The War of Utensilia
Then spoons advanced with bowls of rounded grace,
And forks with prongs did storm the festive place.
The knives, aghast, their empire rent in twain,
Cried, “Shall these toys our sovereignty disdain?”
As Mars himself, with crimson helm and shield,
Beheld the fray upon the banquet field,
He cried to Jove: “What madness dost thou see?
Shall mortals war for broth and fricassee?”
Then Jove, with laughter shaking heaven’s dome,
Declared: “Let forks and spoons have place in Rome!
For knives alone breed chaos, stains, and strife—
Give order now to Caesar’s dinner life!”
So thunder rolled, and lightning flashed on high,
While spoons sang hymns and forks let prongs fly.
The knives fell back, their edges dulled with shame,
And cursed the hour that forks to Rome first came.
Book III: The Feast and the Folly
The traveler laughed: “My work is near complete—
Rome shall not fall to stew upon the seat!”
He dreamt of fame, of statues carved in gold,
Of Cicero declaiming, grave and bold:
“Behold the man who civil order wrought,
And tamed the chaos of the Roman pot!”
Yet Fate, that jester, played a cruel device:
He spilled his wine and paid the final price.
The toga stained, the Senate roared with mirth,
And Nero sang: “A fork hath slain his worth!”
So sing we now of him whose fork did reign,
While Nero sung an ode to spoons in vain.
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