My father

My father

While I look into the mirror
Electric razor in my hand.
I reflect on childhood memories
And scent the old spice brand.

I see my father standing there
Stripped down to the waist
The little silver razor on his
Angular white foamed face.

I marvelled at the way it moved
Without a single error, the sparkling
Of the open blade, often filled
Me with total terror.

Braces hanging limply on his
Boney slender hips
That smile was always constant
On his faithful cheerful lips.

The lines a sign of labour
Etched deeply in his hands
A family commitment
Never used to reprimand.

A simple little moment in a
Childhood full of joy
Returns to me sweet memories
Of When I was a boy.


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