My Father was a Spatula

My father was a spatula that learned new ways of feeling, hurtled through the air out of a big rig's window at over 65mph. My mother was a bowl that soon followed and broke of sadness.

I was a spoon picked up off the side of the highway. I lived my life rattling in an old woman's dusty drawers. She rattled the the halls of her dusty house that saw 3 boys grow up and then disappear on the highway that she had cursed from day one. She tried to give them everything they needed but they just threw it away as soon as they were gone. She said this over custard.