Stories of an ultra runner and adventurer: an obsessive approach to the outdoors by Candice Burt

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Death by Butter Knife

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.

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