an almost accidental gathering of poets
 
   
 
 
Charles Simic
 (1971)
Fork
This strange thing must have crept
Right out of hell.
It resembles a birdīs foot
Worn around the cannibalīs neck.

As you hold it in your hand,
As you stab with it into a piece of meat,
It is possible to imagine the rest of the bird:
Its head which like your fist
Is large, bald, beakless and blind.
   
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