My Spoon

I work downtown in a historic building that has been refurbished. There are two law firms on my floor, and we share a break/lunch room. Today when I went into the breakroom for lunch, I ran into the girl who works next door. She was carrying a cup of coffee with a spoon in it. I didn't think anything of it at first, but I soon realized that it was MY spoon, the one that I had put in the cupboard that morning next to my bowl and a can of soup. So, I wrote the following poem while I was eating lunch. Let me know what you think!

The Girl From Next Door Took My Spoon

or, Inter-Office Politics

It’s a well-known test of the psyche:

“There is no spoon;” I must look beyond

the bacon bits to find the meaning;

purpose is a chives-less desert

behind the water cooler

where the tabletop extends, reality

stretches and light bends towards my face -

I realize that the spoon in her coffee mug

was mine - the sun is shaped like a bowl,

the clouds swim across it like a thick

white soup. Moments before, I thought

we should become better acquainted,

maybe even friends, but now

I am eating my baked potato soup with a fork.