Richie McCaffery

The fork

When the invitation to a high school reunion
came to my door, I was on my knees
in the garden of our cul-de-sac home.

I was clearing a clogged gutter of dead leaves
and found that the best tool for the job
was a sharp-pronged Georgian cutlery fork
with a tapered deer antler handle.

I briefly thought of going, but then considered 
the shame of having to account for what 
I’d not become after showing such ‘promise’.

When the Georgian made the fork long ago,
I imagine they never expected it would end up 
here in my hand. Before them, it was the deer 
that never expected to be whittled to a hilt.

Lignum vitae

I’m defensive, people say,
so I’m turning myself 
into a Tudor warship.

Sparing no expense, I opt
for lignum vitae —
the tree of life. 

So dense it grows 
an inch to each 
new generation of people.

Cannon-balls can’t touch it,
and so I launch it
on the world.

Down the causeway 
it slips and as it touches
the water I remember,

it’s the only wood 
on earth
too dense to float. 

Richie McCaffery lives in Alnwick, Northumberland. He's the author of two poetry pamphlets (including Spinning Plates from HappenStance Press in 2012). His poetry collections are Cairn (2014) and Passport (2018), both from Nine Arches Press. He has a new pamphlet collection forthcoming from Mariscat Press in 2020.