He puffed his cheeks
to make it easier to draw the blade
across his long whiskers. Dave laughed.
I laughed. Our dad laughed
at the ridiculousness of needing
so many hands to accomplish
an everyday task. There was no way

to do this without cutting him,
so we soaked towels in hot water
to open the pores and cold to close
the wounds. After each rinse,
his skin glistened, smoother than
a teenager’s. Dave cringed,
holding the razor to our father’s throat.