Glen Martin Fitch
(poem left below the bathroom mirror)
Such sharp and brittle fingers
comb my hair.
Within the narrows
of each pit the Speed Stick ™
leaves its scented spit.
I turn and stare.
“Behold a wet,
but lucky fool, indeed.'
Free of its cap,
fat in my palm,
I grip the toothpaste tube.
It gobs just with the stress
till with a squeeze
I take a drip.
fail to mold to my caress.
and yet again
I gently wipe stale foamy cream
that's seeped out of the spout.
And leaning in the mirror
fog I swipe
to see if kisses
show on lips I pout.
I'm off to work.
I have to fight the urge to crawl back.
Thank you for last night.
Glen Martin Fitch's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (GROOMING by Glen Martin Fitch )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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