Drip … drip … drip …
It echoes in the tiled room.
Implements of shaving
Are taken out
And spread around:
The routine of spacing
And placing.
The water is agitated
And swirls noisily -
Wiggled by the blade.
The sharpened metal
Scrapes away the hairs,
Rasping through,
Sparing but the skin
That I am in.

Thoughts of me …
Sitting watching the start
Of his day, beginning:
In his white vest,
In the kitchen,
Where the hot water came.
Still the same:
The genes are variegated,
But unfurl willy nilly
Somehow in the shade
Of the mystic lotus petal
Floating in the fresh
Helic brew.
The membranes are thin
that we’re within.

Tick … tick … tick …
It gurgles at great volume!
Incidents of living ...
Lately assessed …
For duration.
No two ever the same.
A surname
Simply articulated
Confines us loosely,
But we are remade
To die our own special
End… under duress.
Pasted, anew,
To once more begin
This hell we’re in.


©  Griffonner (c2009) 2026

(Image courtesy of Pexels - CottonBro)