clean shave

she knew the whiskers
he grew, each and every
gray hair slaloming
down his rustic chin;
she knew his combs
and razors, the remington
steel in the blades;

cuts, curses, cautious
toilet paper bandages
on the bleeding nicks –
what she knew of his
daily shaving routine.

she wiped her tears
on tissues the day
she had to throw
the gillette away.