Here I sit, in the dark drawer.

There they sit.

The forks

And the spoons

Mocking me.

"What kind of a utensil are you?"

"Can't hold soup—"

"Can't hold onto anything—"

"Just plastic."


They never say it directly to me, but

I hear it all the same.

I'll tell you what kind of utensil I am.

I'm a survivor.

I am the fittest.



So specialized, they can never be used

For anything but their

Original purpose.

If something should go awry

(and it oft does)

I should triumph

For I am the fittest.

I am unique!

If I were an animal, I would be

Gary the Unideer!

But Gary isn't me

And I am not Gary

So I shall have to choose another name.

I know.

Not quite a spoon

Not quite a fork…


That sounds ridiculous.


That's it!

I'm Hector the Spork!

Beat that, mainstream cutlery.