Eat With Me

There’s a plate,
it’s no so big – big enough, some would say.
So pretty is the pattern
round the edge, but that doesn’t hide
the scratches,
the cracks,
littering the uncomfortable surface.
Sometimes its hot.
Sometimes cold.
Not many have eaten here, food tends to
slip off. Whatever crumbs are
left here, are quickly
gobbled.

If this plate were a soul,
would it still be whole?

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