I, g clair

Love is hairy, stubbly stuff
shave all week, it's never enough

whether I shave it or slather on Nair
whack it or hack it, will always be there

Keeps coming back, as much as you crop it
waxing and chemicals can’t even stop it

try to ignore it, the nubs comes in thick
even my eyebrows, a uni-brow chick

Come Saturday, I don’t really care
let it grow outta my underwear

Let it alone, that unruly mop
looks like I got me a nice bumper crop

This is my way, ain’t gonna change
my love and my hair are looking deranged

Sitting there pondering love and love's looks
flippin’ through Cosmo and metrosex books

Beauty is bare in my favorite rag
Nary a hairy or haggard old nag

Eyebrows are separate and carefully arched
Lips are injected and never seem parched

Legs are butt smooth, and so are are the pits
Love is not given to hairy chick fits

Speaking of nares, mine is exempt
The nose and the ears are extremely well kempt

Sunday mornin’ rolls around but his razor can’t be found...

I call out his name and wait for an answer
his ditty bag’s gone, could it be that dancer?

The one that he watches, the one he admires
could she be the one whose igniting his fires?

I’ve seen her there waiting, the picture of grace
slender and agile, not a hair out of place

I sit on the edge of the tub, shocked and numb
look in the mirror then look at my thumb

I eye up the woman whose not spent a dime
on personal pleasures as though it’s a crime

My overgrown garden could not see the light
missed out on the sweetness of bare skin’s delight

Bought into myth, and every girls hope
she’d still be worth something without any soap

Rummaged around in a drawer, feeling sick
through tears I lay hold of my old Lady Bic

Slipped into the shower convinced he despised me
lathered and cried, none of this has surprised me

He'd seemed a bit distant and preoccupied,
the more I persisted, the less satisfied

I should have considered my Love is not blind
his eyes are like sponges, his vision will find

The best of the beauties, the cream of the crop
as sweet sugar blossoms parade past his shop

I have an epiphany there in the suds
Time's never wasted on pruning the buds

Better to nip 'em if you're feelin manly
can't be mistaken for Charles or Stanley

Lord knows the time I've put in at Curves
not that it matters, the good that it serves

Let him go sister, try rising above
if that's all he's after, it ain't really love

and who really cares if he's after that minx
just between us, we know how she stinks

Making my plans to rip up his picture
wipe out his memory, no longer a fixture

can't say I've needed nor much that I cared
out with the man and the laundry I've aired

When into my steamy retreat disconcerted
the voice of the man I was sure had deserted

I silence my heart, and put down the Bic
ease back the curtain, behold~ my St. Nick!

the hairy faced heathen is battered and worn
face rather prickly, it needs to be shorn.

"What is this?" he demands, as he thrust out his hand~
"Why, a worn out old mach 3, the triple edge brand"

"I just CHANGED this blade and the thing's dull and rusted!!"
"Heck if I know", but I know I’ve been busted.

Step out of the shower bare skin drippin wet
"At this rate I think I’ll buy stock in Gillette."

I hold out my bic and smile at old Bones
"Would you like me to light your cigar, Mr. Jones?"

Leave him to his business which won’t include the shave
Love is stubbly, love is soft and hairy to the grave.