It is early on a Sunday morning

Not yet disfigured with friction

Who'd have thought the dawning

Would begin that day in the kitchen?

He glimpsed me in his mirror

Shaving cream all over his face

Curious I bravely stepped nearer

And my heart began to race

He kindly let me watch him shaving

"Is this what I'll do when I get old?"

A rare moment when he wasn't raving

(At least that is what I was told)

I asked if I could feel his stubble

It was like sandpaper to my touch

I gazed in wonder at a soap bubble

Perhaps that when I saw too much

His skin was coarse and rough

He laughed and I knew I had to go

A brush with masculinity was enough

Jesus Christ I miss my father so