30 in 30 2016: #1 The Family Beard

The Family Beard

I grew it cause I didn’t like shaving. 

Not the act mind you, it’s always been 

that mess that it makes that drives me insane. 

Unclogging the face scratchings from the drain, 

mixed with the potions and concoctions designed

to tenderize my flesh. 

Growing it was easier than not growing it. 

I clipped tugged twisted stroked and twirled 

the corners to pull it into 

an exaggeration of the face it hides. 

I haven’t seen my upper lip in years.

When I wipe clear the clouds that a shower has accumulated, 

peel back the layers of tangled strands that enclose my face 

and smooth the scruff on my face, 

I see my family’s generations of blue eyed 

brown haired septum deviated men 

hiding out in the structure underneath. 

I wonder if they ever saw future generations in their own reflections

The mirror above the sink 

holds a foamy mouthed mad mountain man,

who needs a haircut,

scraping his meals from his teeth 

so when he gallops his way to work 

he doesn’t pant a cloud of coffee death into his whiskers.

On mornings the Pacific hugs the shore so tight
it bursts into clouds of sea-salt scented fog 
condensation trails off the edges of my profile bristles,
leaving wet traces of scented oils on my shirt 
as I race through the morning wondering 
if there were any other men in my lineage 
that collected the same sort of ocean in their beards.