The Beard that got Away

I had a beard once
But I lost it in the kitchen sink
To a pair of sexy skeksy skizzer sisters

I lost it to the bathroom sink in a teenage fit of unrepentant rage over a fricase of deep fried perpetual self loathing with a splash of cry me a river, 12 dollars for a single or twenty for two.

I lost it to a gnome who fancied it over the naming of my first born child when I lost it in a game of deadman’s dice during my time in the deep blue.

I lost it when I applied for a job for small boys and needed to look the part of thirteen. I was to be an altar boy in the church of uncle Steven who always took a liking to males in the basement, it didn’t have to be in the dark if you didn’t want, or if you were afraid.

I lost it when I came in close contact with a Boeing 747 mid flight, flight 273 Newark to Annaheim boarding now, “no mom I don’t like the pwane” the toddler cried as I crashed pell mell into the face of it’s right wing turbine, arriving on the opposite end unscathed but for a close shave and one less limb of unknown origin. Only the birds took notice.

I lost it in the gutters of an underground railroad apartment this side of the BQE when an attractive Mexican named Hugo handed me my first bouquet and all hair fell off my body in shear excitement my troubles undulating in my underwear I shivered for days until I realized I was cold and promptly caught fire in protest of the drone war in my middle east.

I lost it in the far recesses of my mind three cuils too many I offered hamburgers to a protestant poorhouse pouring people puss back into the rainbow colored melon fruits of my alter ego jumping tiggers in the back streets boys at night.

I lost it when I took it off and forgot to put it back on with spirited gumshoes from my doo wop days searching in a Carmen San Diego kind of way for a doo bop as the mainers used to say in their shipyard ordealish deals.

I lost it when your mother bought me a drink and already I had been feeling three big ones in, she insisted and I am a gentleman. It was gone the next day and I pissed like a racehorse for most of the morning.

I lost it when someone spoke the secret password to enter my mouth.

I lost it when I dribbled egg all over it in a misguided attempt at foodplay, in much the same way George Costanza tried the pastrami sandwich. There was no soup for me only dried egg coagulating my beard to her clam’s beard. Needless to say it was painful, and we did not speak again until January next where embarrassment and jokes about genetic materials ran amuck.

I had a beard once- once.

I had a beard and it was the color of uncracked pepper, the color of the stars up close and personal, far away and gravitous, a beauty that killed most of it’s own inhabitants. A country dedicated to the idea that your hair is what you eat or what your father called a certain kind of something only night owls know distinctly of in owly owlish ways


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