Knife in hand, I happen to glance
through the kitchen window
that overlooks my little patch of green.
As I scan the lawn, scarred by
weekend ball games and weeds,
the mud patch underneath
the now disused swing set
and the dahlias dancing in the breeze
I ponder on where I could hide the body.
Of course, the vegetable patch, perfect!
He always hated cabbages.
Lost in my thoughts, I fail to notice the cut;
those first few seconds when nothing is felt
but cold steel slicing fresh flesh.
down my hand
and my knees buckle, I feel an arm under me;
another holding my wet hand above my head.
Later, bandaged and woozy, trying not to bleed
over the designer sofa, a thought occurs…
Who knew he’d be so good in a crisis?
Perhaps I’ll wait a while…..