My Cutlery Mistake

It seemed my poem of yesterday,
Has created a minor war,
It's led to dissent in,
My kitchen cutlery drawer.
The spoons grip each other tightly,
And refuse to come out,
They have anti-Ymir placards,
And slogans they yell out.
The ladle has adorned itself,
With barbed wire by the score,
But this protest is OK,
I didn't know what it was for.
The knives are ominously quiet,
Well organised and planned,
The first time I picked one up,
It stabbed me in the hand.
The bottle openers have self-sealed,
Corkscrews are in a protest line,
That doesn't affect beer or bourbon,
So that just suits me fine.
The knife sharpener refuses to work,
But the issue's plain and clear,
I prefer it not to work,
Now blunt knives are a good idea.
The spatulas have all curled up,
The couldn't flip a bean,
Everything else has disappeared,
Not an item can be seen.
So, as I survey my kitchen tools,
From a bunker on the floor,
I realize my fork is precious,
And I love it even more.

As stated, this one springs from the poem of yesterday. I wondered how the other cutlery would take my obsession with my fork. Is it just me, or do I sound like the Blue Raja from "Mystery Men"? In any case, I included some other items of cutlery and tried to include humorous takes on their functions.