Ballad of the Pocketknife

Ballad of the Pocketknife

Wake up water boy

and rub my aching feet

with olive oil.

Throw a towel on my

decapitated head,

decapitated by the salty night air,

for loving a boy

with a feather

on the tip of his tongue,

and living with him

for a hundred years

in a pocketknife.