The man behind me is holding a razor to my neck
I must control my breathing, keep my emotions in check
I don’t want to anger him, not even in the least
I just sit here anxiously not uttering a peep
Suddenly something warm and wet is on my face
Why do I feel I’ve not been dealt an ace?
My bladder is full, and my pants are dry
That could change suddenly, I’m not sure why.
The man has a name, I’m almost certain it is Bill
A Spaniard by birth and the Barber of Seville
At first I am shocked when the substance whorls
It is just shaving cream down my check that swirls.
© Tim D. Culey -2013-
