Poetry

The Beard

I decided to grow a beard.

Not an unkempt hipster beard,

or a bushy lumberjack beard,

or a jolly Santa beard,

-although lately,

for reasons I can’t explain,

I’ve been putting on weight

and the idea of big white beard

and a round tummy is quite appealing,

I could look at children and give

them a wink as I hold my index finger to my

pursed lips,

Then I could hand them a candy cane and

chuckle to myself.

No,

I want a noble beard,

¾ Something professorial,

thoughtful,

contemplative,

A beard that compliments this

invading patchwork of grey that

subjugates my face,

A beard I can stroke astutely as I search

my poor vocabulary for the right

words,

and when I speak

people will say, “There’s a thoughtful chap”

“A man’s man.”

They will think me dapper,

And I like to think that a beard like this

will keep me warm in the winter,

but I know,

after a boyhood in Minnesota,

that it will only freeze with my breath

and snot,

And that’s not so very dapper

I had such a beard

fifteen years ago,

but my two-year-old daughter said

it scratched her, so I shaved.

I no longer give her those tight cuddly hugs,

it would just seem weird,

so, I can safely grow the beard now,

And I will nod knowingly in

awkward social situations

and scratch it,

and stroke it,

and hide the sadness I feel

for the little girl that

is gone

showing only the smile

for the young woman she has become.

The contentedness of a grey

bearded man.

Scott Jessop

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s