by Arthur Parten
It's been about a month
since last I saw her.
She tells me on the phone
how she always loved my beard.
How it made me seem distinguished.
Her voice is full of something
but I can't make out what.
I blame it on the tinny sound.
The connection is always off here.
I promise I'll see her soon.
She's still talking about my damn beard.
She says I should grow it back,
and she really prefers men with facial hair.
When we hang up, I smile for a good minute
and scratch the two weeks' growth.
I get to work.
Later my skin is raw from cutting too close, and
I still check to make sure I didn't miss a spot.
Posted on 04/11/2007
Copyright © 2019 Arthur Parten
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Deborah S Regan on 04/12/07 at 12:06 AM|
good poem, it makes you think about missing someone
|Posted by Genevieve Sturrock on 04/12/07 at 01:09 AM|
heh....yeah....i cut my hair off once after much the same conversation.
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 04/12/07 at 01:18 AM|
An amusing play of emotions and an ending I did not suspect.
|Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/12/07 at 03:29 AM|
Man, those last couple of lines cut right to the bone. Wonderfully done.
|Posted by Matthew Sharp on 09/23/09 at 08:29 PM|
awesome, ive been in a similar situation that also made me wanna cut it all off.