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?


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