The strop hangs there
motionless,
though it seems to move
up into his hand
like a cat
tangled at his ankles.
there is a price for
an unmade bed,
mowing at odd lengths, or
the can too far from the curb,
there is a price,
there is always a price,
collected
by that strop
slicing slender rivers.
I wished,
but gave up on magic.
I prayed,
but gave up on god.
I rage
and it answerd
when nothing else
answered.
Soon I will level him,
strop my razor,
shave my whiskers,
and leave him to die
on the bathroom tile.
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Submission Name: Razor strop lesson learned
