Why I Hate Shaving
by Harold Rain
Oh hell, its time to shave again, a drudge I suffer weekly.
Disgusting stubble peeks out from my skin, if only meekly.
I never seem to have the time for this abhorrent chore;
Perhaps I would, if every week, I did it six times more.
But alas, my facial hair will never grow that fast,
Because I made a trade-off in my embryonic past.
For in my mother’s uterus not only I was sown;
I had a beauty by my side, and never was alone.
I said to her, “My sister fair, so happy I’m with thee,
I’d be alway content to live in just thy company.
But alas, it shan’t be so. Methinks there’s little doubt
That by and by, yea soon enough, we’ll both be pushed out.”
“The coming future is a fact that we dare not dismiss.
And though thou surely dost not fear, considerest thee this:
We have but paltry problems here, and most we can ignore,
But here our number is but twain; without there could be more.”
And she replied, “My brother dear, I know that thou art right.
Have we not ears to hear a sound and eyes to see a sight?
If this be all of life there is; this dark and silent place,
Methinks that thou and I both have a highly cluttered face.”
“Likewise our idle limbs, so cramped within this tiny womb,
Foretell a future life when we shall surely have more room!
Perchance this afterwomb is bound by nought but sky and soil,
We’ll know upon our shuffling off of this placental coil.”
Then I to her, “My sister fair, how shall we then prepare?
For we have yet to learn what manner folk there be out there.”
O brother dear, they need not fear, bespoke her winsome smile,
And then aloud, “Our virtues joined could conquer any trial.”
“Thou art disposed like one called man, and I’ve a woman’s guise
And thus we see two gender types, and therein might surmise
That without; although, indeed, there may be yet another,
The chances are that most out there are one or the other.
“Thus grant me some of thy male mind, but just a little part,
And something of they manly build, and of thy virile heart.
Likewise therefrom these parts of me take thee a modicum.
Subtracting from our differences, we’ll form a novel sum.”
And thus we made a covenant, an everlasting bind,
The likes of which no only child could ever hope to find –
An oath which bound us closer than the tightest wedding band;
Carved deeper than the dictates from the finger of God’s hand.
“What light from yonder cervix breaks? It seems our time draws near.
Yet whitherward we now shall be, there’s nothing we need fear.
For thou hast me within you, and I have thee in me
And thus betwixt us twain possess we all humanity.”
Together we were simply thrown into this hostile world;
To face together anything which was to be unfurled.
Together we had wisdom. Together we had pride.
Together we had everything until my sister died.
So reaching forward now, I wipe the mirror clear of steam,
And gaze at the reflection with its beard of shaving cream.
It keeps on looking at me with an apathetic stare,
Eventually I speak to it through foggy shower-air.
“They say a child who knows disaster hides a wounded soul;
That pain felt at an early age will always take a toll.
But trust me – no heartaches have you left to be confessed –
In fact, there’s nothing wrong beneath that smooth and flabby chest.”
“Eight years have passed since you became the lonely eldest son
And now I see that what was two is now but half-of-one.
Get over it! You haven’t any tears left to be shed.
And don’t be angry with her, for one cannot blame the dead.”
And I’m not angry waking up, and driving into town;
Nor am I angry, when at night, I finally lay me down;
I am not angry, when alone; I eat my lunch at noon,
I just wish these crappy razors wouldn’t wear out so stinking soon.
For it is that time to shave again, a drudge I suffer weekly.
Disgusting stubble peeks out from my skin, but only meekly.
I never seem to have the time for this abhorrent chore.
Perhaps I would, if every week I did it six times more.
Issue Navigation> Issue Index > v6n39: Into the Biennial (9/27/07) > Why I Hate Shaving
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