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All My Love to a Shoprite Cashier and the Gloriousness of Her Moustache

A poem about admiration, respect and finding that one person who completes you...

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Perched prim on your chair
With an impassive stare
Thinking elegant thoughts with an ungulate air
I am floored by a notion
As I can’t but compare
My mere scant contribution to your full facial hair

You are more of a man than I, Shoprite Cashier
You are more of a man than I

Do you know that it’s there
Are you even aware
Of your fabulous furriness’s bon viveur
Of the way that it bristles
Of the fact that we stare
Of the manner we – stammering – humbly declare

You are more of a man than most

Do you wish your chin was bare
That prickles on your face were rare
To right the blight that is this flare
This mark of Cain, to scold, to scare
This unclean bell, your brand to bear
Oh do you curse the day the e’er
The gods had failed to heed your prayer
That in that act, you would through their
Malevolence yourself prepare
For every glance and every glare
Are you not filled with frank despair

Because you are a better man than I?

Or do you praise it, do you dare
Believe that you, believe the fair
and gentler sex can also wear
this mark of war, this Croix de Guerre
Do you, Oh Shoprite she-Voltaire,
Dream one day, women everywhere
Might some day, hold within their care
This bold and bristling love affair
Twixt every human mating pair
Bound by the bond follicular
That you might know, so laissez faire

That you are a better man than most, Shoprite Cashier
And your moustache, my love, is radiant

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