Do you remember when she said, “enough knives to stab myself”?

How could anyone do that? How could they move their arm?

Something moved her heart, it seems, when opening the kitchen drawer.

She recognised the forks and spoons as left and right-hand path.

She recognised the meat skewer as what the politicians do.

She recognised the nutcrackers as the education system.

Then all the teaspoons stood on end and danced beneath the spatula;

Looking like a west end show, they summed up entertainment.

Bread knives and carving knives were war, the masher was the underground,

And other forms of transport. Do you remember when she said,

“Enough forks in the road to get myself SO lost”?

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on

Ino really likes this poem.