The Visitors

Me and Joe visit lost silverware. All around the place. There are forks, spoons, even sometimes knives or other strange things. They are lost. Lying in the dirt by a tree, or near a river. We take care of them. We bring them little presents. I can’t tell you what. That’s the thing that no one knows. If anyone knew, they would start, too. We want to be their friends. Some of them are buried, but we used a radar-toy to locate them. We visit them. They tell us stories. All the dreams of their manufacture. The hands they knew. The conversations and events they witnessed. The old, lost implements are amazing. You wouldn’t believe what they have experienced. But it’s a secret that no one knows. Otherwise, everyone would visit them, and then, well, they would go silent, like before. And then they’d just be forks. Or spoons.