Sally’s Razor by NK Tryggvason Once shiny and new & sharper than wit At the back to the shelf, the razor does sit Tarnished and dull with a rust spot or two Alone and abandoned with nothing to do A tender young maiden once eager to please Shaved both armpits and her legs to the knees Now Older and Wiser and not so willing to behave A politized activist certainly can’t shave And, wondering what it had done to offend, The lonely razor planned to amend Its forgotten state, and return to the fore Of Sally’s toilette, or at least be used more Waiting and watching for it’s chance to gleam And needing some help from the shower steam The razor strained and stretched til it slid Off the shelf, down the tile, to the toilet seat lid Sally poked her head out after the noise Her date glancing at the razor, Sally lost poise. “You shave?” the date asked, incredulous “No!” stammered Sally, still trying to sous How the razor landed in such a visible place And her face grew redder as egg formed on her face “I thought I’d tossed it,” Sally swore, dripping wet, “I stopping shaving when I stopped being het!” Her date laughed, dropped the razor in the trash, Then slipped into the shower, not wanting to hash Sally’s transgression when there was love to make, Teasing was for later, and hot coals to rake.
Posted on: Sun, 22 Sep 2013 22:55:49 +0000
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