Operation: Golden Spork

In vaults beneath the kitchen deep,
Where sacred utensils sleep,
Lies the artifact we seek —
The Golden Spork of Ancient Peak.

Mission briefing, midnight sharp:
“Extract the spork before dawn’s harp,
Past laser grids and pressure plates,
Through microwave-defended gates.”

Agent Fork has gone too far,
Agent Knife’s behind steel bars,
Now Agent Spoon and I remain
To steal the relic back again.

The security is cutting-edge:
Dishwasher sensors on each ledge,
Garbage disposal’s grinding guard,
And spatulas that hit you hard.

We rappel from refrigerator heights,
Through steam and shadows of the night,
Dodge the whisk’s all-seeing eye,
As dinner plates go rolling by.

“The spork!” I whisper with delight,
Its tines gleaming in dim light,
Half-spoon, half-fork, all legendary —
Its powers still extraordinary.

But wait! The coffee maker stirs,
Alert and brewing, danger whirs!
Hot liquid trails block our path,
As kitchen ninjas show their wrath.