By Amy Jenner


The first hair that goes
Is pubic hair
From its root with one satisfying tug
Covering the bathroom mat
Leaving a smoothness that only Innocence remembers

Armpits no longer leave
A scratchy rash on my chin
When I nestle deep into my dreams
Instead, silky like the razor companies say
Should be achieved and admired
And stroked

Lashes flutter off like butterflies
Blinking now sticks, and slaps and smacks
Leaves depart and leave raw, fleshy bark,
Red and weathered
Open to an endless stream of tears
Caused by breeze, dust, eyeliner and fear

The leg hair. Oh that stays.
The one saving grace we joke,
No shaving for summer
Endless smooth flowing skin
But no, these follicles stand their ground And stubbornly stay put in their well established trenches

And the head
Shiny from slicks of coconut oil
Pale from decades of being hidden
And now sweaty from chemical flushes that attract dogs and bugs to the salty flesh
And are rewarded with a long, hard lick.

And the last to go. The eyebrows.
The last fuck you

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