ready for work

you couldn't wait to shave
when you were
a child.
covering your cheeks and chin
with your
father's
shaving cream,
then taking
a razor to slowly
take the creamy
white clouds away.
not even peach fuzz was
there
to cut.
but you made like there
was.
your sisters banged at the locked
bathroom door.
what are you doing in there?
then his old spice
splashed on
with your small cupped hands,
your hair combed,
parted on the side
with the help
of brylcreme.
done.
brushing past
your angry sisters,
you were ready for work,
grabbing your
lunch box
and running so as not
to miss the bus.