young boys with knives

i don't know

why exactly it came to be that way,

but every kid

on the block

had a pocketknife

of some kind.

you rarely left the house

without it.

a pen knife, a boy scout 

knife with

several pull out blades,

a switch blade.

a Swiss knife

with a red cross

embedded,

a bowie knife with a leather case.

we'd find trees to carve our

names into,

hearts with the initials

of girls inside

who pretty much thought

we were dumb,

our charms not yet revealed

to them.

we cut fish loose

with our knives, sliced worms

into threes, we

pried open cans,

chopped up snakes near

the river.

i look in my kitchen drawer

now

and look at all those knives,

all that assorted cutlery,

none of them

as good as the ones we used

to carry.