Carve

You have to be careful with cutlery, even in dreams.

 

“Is that what he’s using

For a carving knife?”

I ask, as the boy

Who leads this massive

Tableful of people

Raises what could be

A small sword, wickedly-

Pointed. My companion says yes,

And I draw my eyes away

From the gleaming tip,

Look at the girl beside me, who I know

Will be stabbed in the back

By a carving knife I’d hoped

Would be duller and shorter than that.

I say, “That doesn’t bode well.”

 

 

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