In the kitchen, I eagerly wait, For cheese, carrots, or something great. With sharp, tiny teeth, I shred and bequeath, A pile of savory fate.

I don’t come in the way you expect. I slip in from behind, quiet and sure. And when that won’t work, I come up from underneath instead.

Low-level labyrinth, mortuary maze, Or a means to pick nits, from flea-ridden strays?

I wear black and white but I’m not alive. Cars must pause so people arrive. I look like a zebra frozen in place. What am I that helps you cross alive?

With brass, steel and nickel I help to unseal all manner of possibilities, I Bow then my blade bites, you turn me and then things open.