Author Information
"Muskers"
by Jeph Johnson
here I sit
in my unmade bed
this morning
listening to my beard
crawl up and down my neck
like ants surrounding
sticky-sugared soda
-
wide awake
my eyes are closed
thinking
in the dark
of Dad
-
for three days I haven't left this room
and I have to mentally rewind
to decide if I need to go to work today
-
I don't
so I run my hands over
my neck stubble and wonder
if I were to splash on
a cupped handful of Old Spice
would I be more like him?
-
I don't know why
it's called after-shave
because the feel
of unshaven whiskers
and the spice scent always
went together in my mind
-
next to him in the car
on our way home
from the sporting goods store
I kissed his sand paper cheek
after he bought me
a fifteen cent pack
of football cards
in 1977
even back then
this was not
a whole lot of money
(now a pack costs
a dollar-and-a-half)
but these cards were
non-glossy and off center
-
the coolest card in the pack
besides All-Pro Jack Youngblood
was a Colt wide receiver
named Roger Carr
who smiled like Dad
and had the same
pinned-forward ears
Dad had learned to make
a big part of his personality
-
when we got home
my three-year-old sister
kissed him too
and feeling the
abrasive scrape cried;
"Ouch Daddy,
your 'muskers' hurt"
-
I laughed,
feeling glad
I got Mom's ears
and a bit of my sister's
inventive vocabulary
-
but this morning,
my hand running across my own face,
I feel again my Dad's "muskers"
