Christopher Jane Corkery: Things

Hello, says the paper.
Hello, the hat.
Pick me up, read me,
Put me on.

We wait with the clock,
And the kettle, and the long
Breadknife whose handle
Is silky with age.

Use us, walk on
To the world’s stage.
Learn that you
Are an actor as well.

Of kindness?  Revenge?
Who can tell?
Of a subtler love?
Choose.  Choose.

The breadboard is round,
The color of cloves.
A lovely bevel
Travels its edge

And the word Bread —
Who encised it? –
Turns and returns,
As if things were simple.

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