Self Portrait

Mr Saddler asked me whether I was pleased with my 'O' Level result.
I hadn't thought, so I decided 'why not?'
In the same way, I see my face and think 'why not?'

As the years go by, the baby grows into an old man,
And I hardly notice a thing.

So today I looked closely into the mirror, with razor held to my throat.
At first I smiled, I saw the little shock of hair, curling upward from my ear holes,
Like smouldering wisps of smoke.
I remembered little Joshua, three years old, tugging on a tuft as I sat with him in the crèche.
"You've got a beard in your ear" he rightly said.

The following week my Iranian barber trimmed it right off without asking.  He trimmed my eye brows too.
He understands these things.  It's best not to talk, just get it done.

I remember my grandfather; shaving by the kitchen sink.
Not much hair on top, but gushing hair from his ears, and eye brows.
Boy he needed an Iranian hairdresser.

I notice my head of hair, a gift from my mother.
Thin hair, but not a sign of grey.
Just visible, symmetrically positioned flashes of cloudy grey; from my father.
These come and go with trips to my machine-gun shooting barber (a basement in Birmingham apparently).

And on my left forehead, a faint touch of the Gorbachov's white ink stain.
I am reminded of the day my chain fell off, swiftly followed by me,
And my forehead grazed Mere Road.
Later in A and E, the junior doctor asked me to recite the names of the queens' children.
As an ardent republican, I was shocked when the names came forth, 'Charles, Ann, Andrew, Edward'.
A nurse reassured Margaret far too effectively.
She eventually found me in my hospital bed, red faced and swearing allegiance to the Crown.

Two faint symmetrical indentations line my top lip.
A genetic legacy to roving canines.
Whilst descending into my jaw, these were blown off course,
Like misdirected missiles they flew away into my brain.
After extraction the rogues were discarded.
For my young sister there was progress.
The same happened to her,
But hers removed and chastised, where put back (minus their bite).

A real smile can be detected in the eyes.
The Dechennce muscles can not be faked.
Creases curl with genuine warmth, and I saw my eyes rise as I looked in the mirror,
As my razor came down.