The Boy Scout Handbook

Father makes a big loop

then pulls the end of the rope through.

It looks like a cursive O,

the first letter of a word

in a foreign language

we're trying to master

but neither of us has a clue:

bowline, clove hitch, sheet bend.

He looks at the book

then pulls the rope out,

sweating-his big hands

that would sooner carve sides of beef.

Years earlier he took me

to his meat market

and showed off the carcasses

hanging in the locker.

See, this is how you carve a steak,

from the hindquarter.

His cleaver glided easily

across lines of gristle

then he handed me the filet,

blood dripping

from his hands into mine.