A magic fork. |
A magic fork in Lou’s Cafe found time to take my breath away. (He seemed intently sure all right to find time ‘tween each lunchtime bite.) At first he acted like forks do as I slid him into my stew to pierce a carrot tempting me as well as unsuspecting pea. But on the second pass I felt His Cold Thin Self was lest than svelt. The feeling in my hand was like the heaviness of railroad spike. His Cold Thin Self stayed the same size (I scanned him with my skeptic’s eyes,) yet he was heavy in my hand (a morphing hard to understand.) Then all at once his weight went south and I again put him to mouth. Strange magic made my taste buds shout as stew turned into sauerkraut! I looked Thin Self right in the tine (beside myself in cafe dine) and sensed His Cold was having fun with me, my stew and buttered bun because I dropped him on my plate yet clinking did not resonate but bitten bun arose like steam (I was convinced this was a dream.) I put a napkin on His Cold (my breathing labored--hard to hold.) Self had no want with staying hid; he creased the kin and out he slid. With flashing lights the spoon and knife on tablecloth became alive and followed His Cold Self in stride as I, nonplussed, remained wide-eyed. Then in the end, while grabbing Thin, I saw something that made me grin. This magic fork had lots of pull: marked on the bill was, Paid in Full. 40 Lines Writer’s Cramp 2-7-15 |