"The King of Silverware"

Here they come again
Opening the drawer
That six-year-old picks me up
Child with the grubby fingers

I’m tossed roughly on the table
Lonely, over on the left

I listen as they bless the food
And brace myself

The little boy picks me up
Shoves me head in a piece of meat
It’s definitely burned
I am brought toward his mouth. . .

The experience is horrifying
His slobbery tongue tastes the food
He shoves me in, headfirst
Pulls me out, scraping me with baby teeth

He moves me toward the mashed potatoes
I shovel them like a common spoon
To the mouth again
He sets me down, at last

At the end
I go to the dishwasher
To be purified of this appalling evening
Back to the drawer
To await the next meal

"Sand"

I am sand
You may think
You walk all over me
But you’re wrong

You put your shoes down,
Your picnics,
Your toys, all on me
But that won’t stop me

I have arms on the shore,
Legs in the ocean,
Even fingers where your children play:
The sandbox

If I were gone,
What would you be left with?
Your children would play in dirt
Your beaches would be dark with mud

You need me
But I don’t need you
One day I’ll walk on you
Let’s see how you like it

Friendship is an oak tree
A shelter, a safe harbor
During a storm
When the dreary rain of life
Threatens to drown you

When you're weak
Don't think
You can make it
It supports you
Never lets you fall.

It's always there
To turn to
Can weather any hurricane
And even if it gets cut down
A stronger one is to come