RED HANDLED KNIFE
Longer than I have know most of my friends,
I have had that knife. Bought it in Paris.
Small, plastic handle same length as the blade.
We were going to have a wine and cheese party
in the room. Be cosmopolitan.
You could take almost anything on the plane
back then, so I packed it in my bag. Since
then it has followed me to Memphis,
Hillsborough, a few camping spots.
Along the way, I must have used it
as a screwdriver, bent the blade.
Now it makes a ripple in the cheese.
I cut up hot dogs to hide the greyhound’s
thyroid medicine. Still pretty sharp,
except for those dents.
And me? I don’t remember the names
of the wine and cheeses. Or if we had bread.
Can’t recall a single face of the people
I shared it with. Rarely think of Paris,
if at all.
Amarillo Bay May 2011
