A Conversation Mid-Stream

And the man said,
your oar is filled with holes.
It’s not an oar, said I, it’s a holy spoon,
and I, sat in my canoe, glided upon
the position he held,
a gargoyle guarding
dead middle
of the stream.

You mean a holey spoon, he said,
a slotted spoon, he thought,
as waves licked the salt from his belt.
No, said I, a holy spoon,
like a holy cow,
or a holy grail.
Mine, said I,
is a holy spoon –
I cook.

Margo’s Mirror-Mirror Try-Outs
Photo inspiration at http://thisfragiletent.com/2012/08/20/the-ghost-of-the-kyles/


Add yours →

  1. What fun! I like puns, and I honour cooks.

  2. Oh, I like this very, very much! While I am not the greatest of ‘cooks’ I’d like to think I have a few ‘holy’ spoons. Reminds me of the story of two sets of people given long handled spoons at a feast…one group whined and complained because they could not feed themselves. The other group enjoyed their meal because they fed each other.

  3. I love not knowing where the poem was going and I love what waited when I got there.

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