When's A Fork A Spoon

When's a fork a spoon
or a spoon a fork, little
tines stinging out at the end?
Weird and not right but

handy, she insisted. And runcible,
good, long-lived. The owl,
the pussycat-you know that poem-
out to sea in a beautiful boat

by a small guitar, my love
and the rest of it ... But a spoon
with those straightaway thorns. A fork
flooding up to the brim. Next

they'll razor the edge and call it
knife. What to cut then?
Once a tongue and a mouth.
And anything you gave it.