a problem with knives

it’s like this at the fish market –
standing around
when all i want is

pink glistening salmon flesh –

there’s a problem with knives
and by the time i get one
you’ve offered me
your breast to cut –

i go for the cheek
incising thin red
around the jaw line

and throw away the knife
shocked by the pain i’ve inflicted
hiding the act
from the rest of my life

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