Fork and Rose

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