Memories of His Dad

Antique, the shaving brush atop his side of our bathroom counter.
Memories of his father come forth,
back when Dad used soap and an old-fashioned razor,
how the blade grazed his flesh with precision.

Later, his father lost that control
as Lou’s legacy sent him flailing
Hard for a WWII vet, an engineer, a man of science,
to revert to unexpected infancy, utter dependence.

The badger-hair brush reminds his son
of happier times, watching Dad pull up his nose
to stop that mustache from gaining ground.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

For Three Word Wednesday: Razor, Flesh, Control; also at Poets United.
Image courtesy of