The shaving of a beard
is our
modern-day memento mori. All growing
things will come to
die. Razor-reaper,
apocalypse in Barbasol.
Hier ende
ich die Welt. Await the resurrection.
The shaving of a beard
is our
self-mortifying
penance. Great heroes
wear their beards, we
throw ours away.
I am not the kind of
man whose
name and face swim
unbidden through
the brain. I do not occur to you.
The shaving of a beard
is our
confession of
dependence, the shame-
faced sigh: I am in
need of love.
The beard is a badge of
manly
pride, but anathema to
woman.
Gone are the bristles
from my chin,
the shaggy man no more.
For Isaac
loved red Esau;
Rebecca, Jacob:
smooth and soft,
trickster-hero.
You feel the razor
as it passes,
but you know
not whence, nor
where it goes.
