She kept knives in the attic you know,
Her husband always tried to get up there to
"Clear out that hellhole".
He thought the most dangerous things above his head were
Various creepy crawlies.
But he didn't know.

When he went to his poker nights
She climbed the foldaway stairs
Laid each knife on her lap
(Although some could be counted as swords)
And stroked it like a kittne,
But it didn't purr.
And she'd smile, because they did have a kitten
Once.

He found it drowned in the river by their house
And he didn't know
It'd actually died in his bathtub
The same one he'd washed the
"Dead cat smell"
Off his skin after he'd buried it.
And she'd looked upset,
Shed a tear; two at most
Pretending to be strong.
Well,
She was stronger than that cat.

And a year later,
He went fishing in that same river
He went fishing a lot, recently
Too much, she thought.
He'd been out four times this week
And it's only Tuesday
She never checked on him though
"A good wife does not spy"
Her husband's life was his own.

"Pity it's going to end when he comes in for supper"
She thought
Knife in hand
      (Although this was one of those that could be counted as a sword)
It was going to be a good supper too.
Roast chicken.
For one.