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First cut is the deepest, two.
When I was fourteen I thought about a shave,
All I had, according to Father was “a touch of bum fluff “
But that did not deter.
The Gillette foam for sensitive skin came out
In a big phlooop.
I splattered it across my face until all I saw was a young
Santa Claus looking back.
I opened the pack of three Bic razors and
Released the plastic top of the first one I grabbed.
I stared in the mirror and pulled the razor up.
It glided so smoothly up my throat to my chin
and uncovered my white virgin skin,
As I rinsed the blade under the tap the first
Of the blood became to overtake the white
On the left hand side of my face.
It seemed to pour and pour, then drip and drip.
I grabbed the hand towel from its
Stainless steel hoop
And dabbed and dabbed.
The hand towel looked like an
Abortion in a bucket.
The sink was stained crimson
And I worried about
Blood transfusions.
The hand towel was eventually
Found.
It lay at the bottom
Of the laundry basket
Under my G star jeans
For three days.
Mother didn’t miss me
And hit the wall.
Her tongue was sharper
Than any razor in the world.
I wonder if beards
Will ever be in vogue?
