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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 12, 2012

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Submitted: September 12, 2012



Your Uncle Ed

shaved in the kitchen sink

using a cutthroat razor


gazing in the small square mirror

set on the draining board

where the big window


gave him plenty of light

and you used to stand

watching him as he set to work


on his cheeks and jaw

and under his nose

and the dog


in the basket

under the stairs barked

and Uncle said


shut up you hound

and the mutt would bang

its tail against its box


and you looked in

the box at the mutt

and said


quiet Bob

no need to bark

and Uncle got off


the last of the soap

with the razor

and washed his face


with hot water

from the kettle

and dabbed his face dry


with a big white towel

and there were spots of blood

where he nicked himself


and he said

don’t shave boy

it’s nothing


but a waste of time

and effort

because it just


grows back again

and after dabbing dry

his face


and sticking bits of tissue

on the wounds

he went off to dress


leaving you

and the mutt

and the banging tail


and you rubbed

your smooth

7 year old face


with your hand

and said to Bob

I ain’t never


going to shave

and you stared out

of the kitchen window


at Granddad’s flowers

growing in the small side bed

and the white bench


at the end of the garden

where you used to sit

with your grandparents


on Sunday afternoons

watching the blue skies

and telling them


all kinds of dreams

and childish lies.

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