Tonight the Widow Wyile eats
dinner with a dessert
fork—why?
just because
it was to hand
she has no
fondness for small
cutlery at supper
unless it suits the food
            for ice cream
small spoons are prime
            else the delight
            disappears too
           quick-lick-ly

But tonight she’s in mini
mode scooping skillet
heated leftovers straight
from the pan with
tiny tines into her eager
chops while wading
through a thick volume
of captivating vernacular
verse that undulates smooth
as velvet swift rivers
around bends of thought
over venerable boulders and stones
that bring about gurgles
small falls
slim thrills   
slight thralls 

Together the words and
vegetables and rice
the meat and spice
served up in tiny type
and garrulous font
on simple silverware
agile sounds
spawned from verbal vision
stir surprise, elation
nourish body mind soul
in harmonious combination