I cut myself shaving
and ended up dead,
an unfortunate slip
cut off my head.
No time to worry –
no need to be brave,
Who knew it would end,
as I stood there to shave.
At my funeral friends gathered
some giggled, I’m told –
“He had a good life,
he was already old.”
Closed coffin it was,
as some thought it weird –
that half of my face
had a slight beard.
Things mechanical
boggles my mind,
which way to tighten,
which to unwind?
Is it all under pressure,
is everything tight?
Does it flow to the left -
does it light up at night?
Will it move if I push it,
when it's done will it beep?
If I breathe the exhaust
will it put me to sleep?
Are there colors to choose from
or is purple the one?
Is this thing a trigger,
like I'd find on a gun?
And what of this button?
be sure to stand clear,
should anything happen...
If this were the only item left of our civilization, what
could be said of people?
They made things of wood and glass.
They kept secrets, so they closed doors.
They were not always up-front about things, so they frosted
the glass.
They establish barriers and boundaries.
Every other day he would spend a
good half hour polishing his shoes. He
would brush them clean, wipe them with a clean, dry cloth, and then meticulously
apply the polish. They always looked
perfect when he was done, except for the heals.
He never did the backs of his shoes because he never saw them when he
looked down. It was just the way he was.
His shop on Main Street was the
same way. He paid a local company to
wash the storefront windows once a week.
He had an expensive front door installed when he first purchased the
place and paid a professional to paint the lettering on the entrance. He even handpicked a sparkling glass doorknob. He felt it gave an old-fashioned look to the
place, like it had been there for years.
You could see him out front in
the early hours, sweeping the sidewalk and checking for litter. Then he would stand out in the street and just
smile at his storefront. It was always
perfect, at least the part he saw.
Anyone who wasn’t lucky enough to get one of the few parking spots had
to park along the side streets and walk back to Main. That’s when the heal of his shoe became
visible. The back of his shop that he always left unattended.
I hate to shave
don't want a beard,
not very brave -
all quite weird,
blades - so sharp
could cut the night,
playing harp
if not done right
shave creams cold
water's hot,
whiskers evil -
kind of plot,
day to day
just the same,
scrape away
then down the drain,
with me in charge
be just one beard
a jolly man
eight reindeer,
snow for Christmas
would be my pick,
jolly Santa
the only Nick.
