If I knew I had ten spoons,
I could use them accordingly.
But today I might have seven spoons
and tomorrow only three, with no idea why.
As though someone sneaks into my cutlery drawer
at night to steal my spoons,
but then other times replaces some
just to fuck with me.
Let’s be honest –
there was never enough spoons,
even before I had to think of my energy
as a finite supply of kitchen utensils.