Poetry

I claim the teaspoon!

A rare, tiny, shiny thing

when out at dinner trying your hand at adulting.

Those soup spoons and dessertspoons,

tablespoons and long handled ice cream spoons

just don’t feel right.

Maybe you can ask for a teaspoon

without being snorted at all night.

And what’s with these odd fancy handles, when

normal metal cutlery is perfectly alright?

Plastic, wood, swirly-intricate designs –

they just don’t feelĀ right.

 

Poetry

The cake is damp

It’s how you have to contort your mouth when you say it

chew it up like tough leftovers

with that same shine of distaste in your eyes.

It’s just a word

but oh, how you use every synonym you can think of

just to avoid it.

Sadly, good cake

is nothing if it’s not this.