A Surrealist Takes a Shave
R.H. Nicholson

I see a figure
Quite like me
In the foggy glass
Marshmallow slathered
Like meringue
Across his weary face
I lean in
And wrinkle my nose
Raise The Device to my cheek
And slide
Quick and smooth
Deliberately
Shaking off the excess
Plop in the hot water
Again I take the risk
Scrape and slice
Ouch!
A well of blood
Trickles down my gullet
A rivulet
Curving like a vermillion worm
My head begins to sway and swirl
My knees go soft
And my life flashes in the steam
The joy and the sorrow
The bliss and the bother
My soul rising to the surface like a buoy
 I feel faint
My life’s decisions--every one of them--
Cyclone in mad distemper
Those broken promises,
The false starts,
Lies I’ve told myself--and others
Neglect and neuroses
Delusions and disappointment
So much time wasted on pointless Internet searches
Forging friendships with people who catch the redeye to Vegas
And vanish like lottery winnings
 
Suddenly I hear a voice
I think I see Jesus holding a handmade sign
At a busy intersection
He looks cross
And uncertain and shakes his noggin
Then my eyes roll up like cheap window shades
And I know what that means
I try to make peace with it in that critical moment
I beg forgiveness
I try to recite the Confiteor
But I end up mumbling mealtime grace mixed with the Pledge of Allegiance
Then the steam clears like receding storm clouds
And I realize I should stick a tear of toilet paper on the cut
And get on with my life