My first time wasn’t a Picasso or Rembrandt.
It happened in 1965 at MCRD in San Diego
With jet roar from the international airport next door,
We strained to hear.
The drill instructor looked at his stopwatch.
Beating the sound barrier, he said,
“You have three minutes to shit, shower and shave.
Do not disappoint me!”
Afterwards, in front of that Quonset hut,
I lined up with ninety, wet recruits.
We wore flip-flops
With towels around naked torsos.
The blood streamed.
The DI shook his head.
“You girls are late.
Good lord, my eight-three year old grandmother could do better.
We are doing this again,
and you will have two-and-a-half-minutes this time.
Move you fucking maggots!”
Over the decades, I have shaved with blades and electric razors.
Today, I use a brush to
Work up the lather in a cup.
Using a Mach 3 Gillette razor,
The final product is polished.
A refreshing renaissance without the blood.