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Plate Is My Name


Plate
is my
name

Plate is my name, don’t dish me, I’m simple,
usually round but sometimes rectangular, square,
but who really cares when you can lick me all clean.
The Greeks like to break me, but not out of anger, I call it joy
and it feels good. Eat great meals off of me,
present cheeses and schnitzels and peas,
and when you’re all done soap me up, rinse, and wash me.
I’m usually quite plain, white and black are usually my colours,
but I can be patterned, labelled, branded, painted, and gold lined.
‘Plate up’, they say, and I respond, ‘how do you know?’
But let’s forget about that and talk about how I usually get stacked up
with lots of friends in dark confined spaces,
where none of us move until we are moved.
Plate is my name, don’t take me for granted,
but I am very common, just like that cliché,
Plate is my name, don’t forget to lick me
round white ceramic plate and fig fruit on top
Photo by Oscar Nord on Unsplash

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