My father always ate with the large fork.
that fork is discomforting for my small hands, but it perfectly fits his rugged hands. My mother and I always ate with the small forks. Our hands were small, delicate. But it perfectly fits our tender hands. The utensils were always separated, little cupboards and drawers, although all the forks went to the same drawer. As I set the table for tonight’s meal, there was no small fork left for me. Awkwardly, I ate in stillness with the large fork. In this miniature, blank, dwelling.
Use imagination to picture a face
On top of mine Empty space In future if you find your attraction fading If necessary to keep doubts from invading Never want you developing a wandering eye The alternative may mean admiration is a lie Past chemistry we could not debate In the present my body you are hurt by or hate Patience no easier to get Further than a different planet No more mapped than dark side of the moon Yet warmer than the bottom of this blackened spoon Patience is cost effective Scarce to find Patience is free Rare in the mind Patience is waiting for me For me to be a new somebody
Since covid paced in
Hunger lingers In this skinny land As many arms are folded During a lockdown Void of spoons going to the mouth To further widen The red sea between The highs and lows of the land
In Nigeria, the poor suffer more during this COVID19 lockdown. In fact, what is being distributed as relief package is a chicken feed. Political elites seem not to feel what the poor feels.
this **** quarantine
is keeping me from getting my daily dose of cuddles!!!!
i miss my love :(
She was the ****, I was the crystal
addicted to each other the moment we meet. But every high has a come down, I'm the ***** needle.. She was the spoon, warming up on another's sleeve. Tided tightly ready to overdose on her. She was the chemical bliss that could be taken anywhere, I thought... that we were something special. But I was used, discarded. I was useless to her, as I was unable to pierce the vein.. Used to many times. So she found another way to find a way to make her self higher than she was with me. Now I'm in a come down rehabilitated and I'm struggling.
when his arms are wrapped around me
it seems like for once everything will be okay.
Head of a silver spoon hanging in the sky
Reaching down into the midnight cloud bowl Scooping up spiced stars scattered in a soup
Mac and Bloom
Went up to the Moon With a Spoon In search of pretty Alien They looked here They looked there No Alien was found And time was bound They returned to earth Only with some dust
Let's Enjoy Childhood.
The other day, I
Tried to eat a *** of yoghurt. Lacking the tools, I called up To my mother: "Mum! Where Are the spoons?" The fatal words. Now, every time I Go online, all the Adverts are for cutlery.
A poem about advertising.
#22 in the Distant Dystopia anthology. © Lewis Hyden, 2018