Feel the strength: pressure moves
from shoulder to elbow, to hand,
to knife, pressing in and sliding out.
But the blade catches skin, halting
the process; the knife, your life, your
work, all are dull. Get out the stone,
sharpen the edges. You’re running
out of time, finish the job.
Wife and child, home soon, heels
clacking, laughter bouncing up the drive,
disappointment on their faces. Do you think
this carnage is what she wants to come home to?
Innards, guts, goop, and muck
on countertops, flung on refrigerator
doors, sticking to bright white tiles,
covering everything in slippery contamination.
Mop up, sponge up, wipe up this
mess. Pull yourself together,
feel the strength in your shoulder move
to the elbow, to the hand, to the knife.
Take the lifeless, the naked, and dominate
it, make it yours. Stuff it with your hopes,
dreams, desires. But don’t you dare forget
the breadcrumbs and spices.