Prongs not spokes

The trouble with silverware
is that they like
re-arranging themselves.
They have absolutely
no respect or knowledge
of binaries.
It's almost obscene -
with their threesomes
and dishwasher orgies
glaring at you like
your inadequacies out
on display.

They like being fondled
between thumbs
and fingers and they
live for being put
inside mouths
marked by lipstick
(in cherry red, plush pink
and deft nudes)
and soothed by
flat tongues.

They sing with their
clink clang on china,
bouncing metallic
sounds off each other.

I wonder if dishes
do elope with spoons
and I wonder what
becomes of
the fork that gets
left behind.
Does it take care of
the teaspoons
and worry about
teaspoon college?
Does it seek
teaspoon support
until the tiny spoons
grow up to become
serving spoons
or ladles
or salad spoons?
(It is the 22nd century
after all. Spoons
can be anything they want
to be - even sporks!)
Where do they go
for silverware therapy,
if at all?
Do they feel ostracized
if they choose
to marry knives or
goblets instead of forks?
Is that how
tiny shrimp forks
and caviar spoons
are made?
Do they talk
amongst themselves
while lying in the sink,
submerged in
dishwater about
who's gay, who's
getting divorced
and who's getting laid?

There's too much
trouble with
silverware -
too much grief
and too much drama.

I'd rather
eat with
my hands.