- P.S. Ehrlich
The shaving took place later
that Sunday, well after daybreak.
See Peyton in the bathtub,
squatting on the mat with scalp coated in foam, pillowed upon Skeeter’s
rosy snorbs. See her perched behind him on the tub-edge, armed with a
safety razor, singing variations on Sweeney Todd as she scraped
Attend the tale of Peyton
his skin was
pale and looked like grilled cheese
till he teamed up with a
off the cheese and left nothing at all
but Peyton D.—
demon baldy perfesser!
confessor’—that scans fine too,” she added. “Hey, this IS a little like
Educating Rita, isn’t it? Call me Rita the undressed
“Lovely Skeeter meter maid.”
“Aw! ‘Nothing will come
between us.’” (Smooch.) “Ooh—you sure have got a kissable-smooth head now,
thanks to me.”
“And you, I see” (said he, turning around) “are strawberry blonde both
high and low.”
“Natural-born!” she boasted, sliding down to meet him.
“Like oranges and lemons—”
“—say the bells of St.
“—put down the
“—say the bells of
St. Blazer (cackle!)—”
“—here comes a candle to light us to bed—”
“—now that the chopper has
smoothed out your head (ya HAAA!)—”
Thus did they
spend the Sabbath; and no Philistines took Peyton, or put out his eyes, or
bound him with fetters of brass. •
[Sadly, The Sidewalk's End is now gone from the Web. Above is a
replica of their March 2003 publication.]
Copyright © 2002-2008
by P. S. Ehrlich; All Rights Reserved.