Death by Butter Knife

I like riding my bike on Thanksgiving

Cars all parked in driveways
The road could be a river
And my bike, a boat.

The girl was stacked high
with bags and a stroller
Sobbing at the bus stop
A baby smiling at me

From its covers, oblivious

Are you ok?

I asked the girl

The baby smiling at my voice,

The girl’s anger filling the street,

As a flood might in early Spring

The baby nestled in the stroller,

As though it were on a boat,

Enjoying the sunshine.

My fucking Step Dad
Hitting me and my son
I bought those groceries
I'm going fucking stab him
With a butter knife

I left reluctantly with a
Happy Thanksgiving
Have a good bike ride
she replied.