QUEERLY TRANS

Kewler Kutlery

The spork invasion is real

Kewler Kutlery

I contemplate the life of a spork, A little bit spoon, a little bit fork.

The forks took a poll, you’re not pointy enough, The spoons all agreed, just a little too rough.

They both gave eggs-amples of how you fell short, Missing a tine, no eggs to abort.

Why can’t they see you for just who you are? A spork is so cool, a convertible car.

It has so many uses, can do any task, All anyone needs to do is to ask.

I wondered aloud, where do you now live? The silverware drawer doesn’t have any give.

There’s a place for the forks, all pointing and free. A spot for the spoons as pretty as can be.

Someplace for the knives, they all are there too, And servers galore, ladles, flippers, and screws.

But where put the spork? No one would agree, Perhaps ask the spork, the spork who is me.

Commentary

I was recently working on a prompt for my favorite poetry venue, Move Me Poetry, when I came up with a poem that was too long for the prompt (we needed it to be a tweet). So this is actually the first version of the one I actually used here…

What this poem means to me — I am a spork. I don’t fit in the drawer that everyone puts the silverware in. I presented as a fork when I was born, but I’m really a queer spoon. But not entirely, a bit of the old spork remains, whether it’s in my shape on the outside or how I am on the inside. And even if I could file away those remnants, I would still be a spork on the inside. A proud-to-be-me-myself-and-you-ain’t-seen-nothin’-yet spork!!!

Stick that in the silverware drawer and shake, shake, shake!!! (Thanks Taylor!)