Your crab claw hand
clamps down on my beard
like hungry teeth on crispy seaweed.
You tug at it until your fingers
slip off like a soft tide.
You slap my chin. You slap it again.
You rub your thumb
down my neck like a blunt razor.
You lick your knuckles and drag them
across the hairs under my bottom lip
and look surprised the hairs are still there.
What do you think is happening?
Do you think my face is covered in wiry dirt?
A tiny forest? Useless snakes?
You rest your palm on my moustache and sigh,
desperate to talk.

© Carl Burkitt 2020