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Poem
by Jeff Baker


Secrets of the Formal Place Setting
 
A place setting in the dirt-room where the moon stores its white neckerchief. 
A place setting in the forest where the wolves hang the red ladles
        of their tongues.
This knife, it seems, was always jealous of this trout: the way it slashed
        up-rapids, the way it flashed and jabbed.
The girl who lives in the shed has only a single bowl to contend with,
        though she tries to keep it as near to the center-point of her dwelling
        as is possible.                                   
Here the soup spoon has been replaced with the sound one would hear
        if one were an erythrocyte in the proboscis of a horsefly. 
Many books have been written to provide reassurance on this point.
If there are to be ribs, a receptacle should be provided for their disposal.
Do not rest the fish fork near the pouch of a marsupial.
Nor shall you bring into a common place both the nut fork and fruit spoon.
The earth was without form, and void; and the Great Fork moved upon the
        face of the waters.
It is best if the knives do not know the forks exist.
A place setting on the beak that prods for parasites among the silver reeds.
One dark night you may stand upon the levee and cover your ears with
        serving spoons—tell no one what you have heard.
The smallest fork, when struck, will produce the most radiant song.
One should not banter about utensils with the sommelier, no matter how
        his bloodless forehead reminds you of the tablecloth before even
        a single service dish was brought to rest upon it.
A bowl for the music in the salivary cells of the leech.
She wipes her bowl clean quite often, wolves watching her through the
        chinks in her shed.                       
A place setting on the sea-tossed barque—utensils crashing over the bow
        of the captain’s claw-plate.
Lesser known are the blow fork, the quark knife, and the Spoon of Life
        which Enkidu wielded against radiant Huwawa.
These waves have destroyed more than one place setting upon this granite
        shore.
A place setting beneath the mulberry tree—how pristine the calligraphy on
        the china teacup, how terrifying the red tear on the cheek of the girl
        holding a dead crane.
All forks are somewhat tricky, but the star fork and the thorn fork are best
        left to the experts.
Given a wavelength of two meters, how large is my fork.
Any object may be substituted for another during the days leading up to
        the event.
You may practice with syringes and a bag of blood.
A radiograph of the mandibles can be your gravy bowl.
In an emergency, hands can be substituted for even the most regal spread.
One should not forget the forget the forks the panther keeps in its black
    case.
If one should encounter the dessert spoon, one should try to makes oneself
    as large as possible.
The wolf fork should only be mentioned with a gesture of the eyes.
The proboscis is not to be substituted for.
If there are to be ribs, a receptacle should be provided for their disposal.
And we bent the tines of our forks at angles and threw them onto the field
        before the oncoming cavalry and when their horses went lame and fell
        we slew the invaders and took the forks from their saddlebags.
This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh.
A place setting made of sound, since the violinist likes to carve at the thing
        that feeds him.
Be careful novice when arranging a nonce setting, for the vocal ligament
        is quite frail and can rupture when straining for those outermost utensils.
She is sleeping now, so the wolves sing to the moon send down your broth. 
It is best if the forks do not know the knives exist.
A whole note of sirloin, half-note of swine, quarter-note of veal,
        eighth-note of lamb.