Cut

I am eleven
Exploring my
New back yard
In Texas cracks in
The ground no hose
Water can fill to over
Flow arguing with my
Little brother to give me
The kitchen butcher knife
Grabbing at it only to feel the
Blade cut deep into my thumb a
Crack flowing blood what the hose
Should have done to the crack in
The earth overflow but blood is
Spurting from my hand I soon
Bandage stitches follow and
Years later I recall our fight
When he races my sister
Home straight arming
Into the glass pane
In the back door
My sister shuts
Hard and fast
Giving him
Dozens
Of red
With
Black
Stitches
Along his arm
Making me wonder
How two of my siblings
Could cross the common
Sense line but sang froid only
Lets us act in cold blood anyway.
I suppose politeness saves us
From mayhem more times
Than not but a cool and
Deliberate manner is
Only a cover on a
Rage all humans
Share just under
A thin veneer of
Civilization so
Cut me do I
Not bleed
In anger
Rather
Than
Regret.