To spear some fish, or perhaps some pork?
This shiny tool is just lying there
Awaiting my desire to attack the fare.
An eating utensil cannot think
And when finished work it lands in the sink.
My fork works hard but it has no hope,
The morsels left on it are removed by soap.
I blame this tool for my bulging waist
It performs its duty with haste, not taste.
This trusty fork held in my fist
Will be there always to "assist".