Surrounding woven oral bib.
There are many names for beards, but I have never heard them called any of these.
Being the owner of an occasional and usually haphazard beard myself, I tend to take its presence for granted. In the winter months, it gives a much-appreciated bolster of insulation. If ever seeking work in the frigid season, briefly bow your mustache combs to the man who must shave for a job interview.
It can give a jump to the front of the line at the auto mechanic, and narrowed eye from the bank teller.
Which brings up an interesting point, when exactly did beards, and facial hair for that matter become a sign of sloth, and a symbol and apathy, laziness, and uncleanliness? Does this have to do with fast food and the system of complex nets one must wear to rock a mouth mane whilst flipping a burger or two? Beards were a symbol of power and prestige and still are in many cultures, yet things have changed. Beards have gone the way of corpulence, which used to signify an upper class fat-laden diet. They have gone the way of paleness, which used to symbolize a life of leisure, wealth, and a lack of physical labor…(errrr….except because of the “Twilight” series…I suppose its back again.) They have gone the way of tight rolled jeans and Koosh balls.
Alright…well, beards are back with a ferocious thickness and so are these three guys that have them attached to their faces.
Come see Travis Blankenship, Eric Kocher, and Patrick Whitfill spout, fume, coo, coax, cough, whistle, whimper, and whisper their poems out of the thing that is located in the middle of their respectively gorgeous facial plumage.
As I now recite to my own beard what a person that was quoting another person once said to me…
“Grow ye. Grow.”
And grow together we shall.
This poetry reading is:
@ Hub City Writer Project
186 West Main Street, Spartanburg, SC 29306
Pictured below is one of my older paintings of a mustache.
See you there!
This Hog was ridden by Mark Rice