You never know what moustache you will get
until you grow one. I knew a man whose moustache
was as thin as his wedding ring. I had
a neighbour with shoulders strong enough
to withstand the pressure of one shaped like a handlebar.
I saw a man yesterday drinking a milky coffee,
white clumps stuck to his stubbled tash
like they were excited to be a part of something
new. I haven’t shaved my face clean for nine years.
I can’t remember what the last words my naked
lips said. Maybe it was ordering a pepperoni pizza,
cheering a free kick going in, complimenting a beer,
whispering about low self esteem, wondering
what moustache I would get if I grew one.

© Carl Burkitt 2023