The Deviant Fork

By Shelley M. Latreille

Sadness overwhelms me as I look at you from across the plate.
I see your sharpness and gleaming silver body.
I watch lustful as you sinfully cut the soft flesh of the dead beast.
You do it ever so smoothly and painlessly.
I quiver with joy at the thought of doing what you do.
You cut the meat for small un-sharp humans,
allowing them to eat their deceased, overcooked meat.
You kill for humans, allowing them to act out their revenge
and aggressions for their poor, defenseless, mortal friends.
But, you make me jealous and now I want to kill you.
I want to be the one that they all run to when
meat needs to be sliced and friends need to be slain.
I'm better than you are.
I have four prongs.
I can kill better than you can with the proper amount of sharpening.
My hate for you runs deeper than the deepest ocean.
I know that they will always run to you for their needs of
hunger and revenge, but for now, I lie in wait, smiling for all must look normal.
No one is to know what is to come.