He couldn't afford to buy
a real Swiss army knife,
so Dad settled for a cheap
Chinese made copy.
There was no fanciness:
forget the corkscrew
or ruler. Just a worn-down
blade, hook and Philips head.
Touching its cold metal
reminds me of the times he used
to wrestle with things
he couldn't hold down and break:
Mackerel, knotted fishing line. Me.

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