Forks and spoons reflected knives
as back-stabbers who cut short lives
-- spoons caved in, became depressed,
prickly forks felt split, oppressed,
knives would dominate the table,
whispering of Grandpa Sable.
Above the table hung the light,
examining the tasteless fight;
illuminating the tableau,
it crystallized a place per foe:
each sequestered in its hate,
separated by a plate.