The Knife Thrower and His Wife

The Knife Throwers Wife: 

His eyes get dim and far away

he laughs like a small boy at play

and he winks and whispers to the knives

as if they were alive.

No one heard.

I soon stopped saying a word.

The Knife Thrower: 

I'd always joked and called her cat

because, I pointed out that

she clearly had at least 9 lives.

She used to close her eyes

each time I threw.

She knew

I'd miss one time;

the streamlined

arc of the blade would sink

before she had time to think.

She got used to it.

She usually wasn't hit.

But sometimes I drank

and the steely knives sank

just barely into wood over skin.

Then I'd do it again

and again

and again. 

Laughing at the spin

of half reckless knives, then

hurl another with abandon.

Everyone wondered if I'd planned it.

She'd been saying I wasn't right for weeks.

For weeks more she just wouldn't speak

at all. She'd flinch with each knife-fall.

She cringed when she heard the Barkers' call.

Barker: 

Step Right Up! Step Right Up!

See the Knife Thrower and his wife.

She rather convincingly looks like she fears for her life.

The Knife Thrower’s Wife: 

His vision bleared.

His thoughts got weird.

The Knife Thrower: 

I raised my arm

intending harm.

The Knife Thrower’s Wife: 

He lost his grip.

He slipped

past the edge of reason.

The Knife Thrower: 

It’s wife slicing season!