Uncle's Shave.
Uncle’s Shave.
You used to watch Uncle
shave in front of the small mirror
propped on the edge
of the kitchen sink,
his face lathered
in white soap,
his cutthroat razor
held just a short distance
from his skin
by his right hand,
as the other hand
held the skin taut
in preparation
of the razor’s slide.
You stood behind
fascinated,
your young eyes
searching the mirror’s world
of Uncle’s face
and the performers start.
Uncle watched you
in the mirror,
his lips breaking
into a small smile,
the razor held
just above his ear,
his eyes staring above
the shaving foam,
taking in
your fascinated gaze,
the open mouth,
your hands copying
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poem by Terry Collett
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