Pale white hands

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You, never walked in the kitchen,
before that Saturday night,
You said the place was “Dingy,
hardly enough light”

Yet you knew,
Butter knife’s for butter
And bread knife’s for bread
The cleaver was for meat.
Aren’t humans pretty neat!

You were scared of blood,
You were scared of crying,
Once when you were young
You were scared of dying.

You never cried when onions
stung your dreamy eyes,
but the day you walked in the kitchen,
even onions cried.

Bread knife for the left,
The butter knife for the right.
You cudn’t use the cleaver,
For the floor was redder than white.
That night there were no chicken,
Just your pale white hands.

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