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Pocket Knife I saw you there dancing throwing her on the floor like another one of your toys. I had to pull out my army knife and slit your face; I had to watch the blood stream from your open wounds at the same speed as the apologies that parted from your lips. It was almost hard to keep up with your show, but I must admit that it was good entertainment. You know, I still couldn’t help but notice that your pocket knife was bigger than the one I bought for myself. An extra blade or two, a better pair of tweezers. And you were so proud of your little gadgets, and you were so sure that it was a better pocket knife. But I can’t help but think that not only does mine do the job, but it does the job well, and because you never use yours it’s all just a waste. Copyright Janet Kuypers. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission.