John Vurro

Here’s the loofah 

         & shaving foam    

the soap on a tuft 

     of frayed rope   

& here   my son   

nine-

         -teen       

                 stalled 

in our shower-stall  

again   &    worth        

              the spoils 

of my effort 

            : his chin pressed 

into my shoulder    almost 

a hug    

             my hand 

clasping    his 

hand       almost holding   

        hands   

we negotiate 

the razor      together 

            along his cheek 

until his hand 

squirms       free 

         & the razor 

         ricochets off the tub 

& instead of movies

he’s watching cartoons 

& instead of college essays  

             it’s disability forms

& caring for 

               your child 

separate    from raising 

       your child    &  

impossible to understand 

my own father 

       not having the gentleness 

       of touch    for this  

    or for     me   

    or for     his grandson      

    or for     anyone   

except himself       & here’s  

to the failings 

     of father-hood      just look 

             : I nicked him

once already