I like watching men shave. What can I say. I have a couple poem meditations on the second child my husband and I never choose to try for. I am very happy with the one, fabulous child we have! Options and paths-not-taken interest me these days.
This is from my newest book CLOUDBREAK which just came out in June, 2021. You can get it from the publisher at Poetic Matrix Press. This is helpful to support these beleaguered independent presses. Or through Bookshop.org. This non-profit redistribute profits to beleaguered independent book stores. Also, of course on Amazon.
Watching my father shave
in a white cloud of scratch-swath,
we talk. His attention is on task and me
and the rich lapping of the supple brush.
We talk about Mark Twain and Dumas.
I lay the badger bristles against my cheek,
wet fur springing apart, drying into softness.
Tap, tap, tap the razor on the porcelain sink
always three taps, then swish.
Like cleaning the sidewalk of snow,
the pattern is the same.
I regard his shoulders, firm jaw,
corded tendons in forearms
that taught me to hammer and weld.
Joining my tall husband in our warm bathroom
for his grooming meditation,
I daydream the son we never had—
his father teaching him razors and care,
eucalyptus and bay rum,
a green sharpness in the air—
a male mystery of steam and sweet soap.