The Acid Knife Couple Below My Perch by Frankie Metro

Betraying the shape of owl
feathers in the skin of trees
with its depth,
the stranger’s far-away knife
just missed her head by
an inch.

Whether by accident
or drug-addled default
or blind luck,
the stranger missed…

She pulled the blade
from the trunk,
folded it back
(neverminding the
superstitions
about closing a stranger’s
knife
e.g. the bad juju promised
to follow)
& remarked how beautiful it
was frozen in her hand,
how delicate the autumn sunset
made her fingers look
& how clean the ground was
beneath her.

The stranger,
who was very familiar with
the brand name on the hilt,
asked if she wanted to
keep it as a souvenir,
tossing dry oak leaves
over their heads like
warm confetti.

The stranger laughed
when she refused,
reiterating how
a good knife,
like the knife that missed
from close & intimate
vicinity,
was important to have
in a city like this.

She giggled and thanked him
again for the offer,
assuring the stranger
it would
eventually get lost in her
possession…

never letting on to the fact
that she carried
a .44 Ruger Redhawk
in her
Alouring Moments handbag.

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