Poet Commentaries

Time for a Strop

A Time to Strop

the kids fight
parents get thick skin
horse ass strop

The perfect angle feels right. The pressure is on point.  There is no stutter or skip in the feedback.  It is a grind that grits the teeth and sends voices through their full range. The bristled steel heats up, the burr forms.  The kids are sharpening their nettle.

It is turned over and the song changes. The retort of rustled feathers, gravelly; in tones of harsh consonants, single syllable defenses and whining.  Then comes the even drone of lucid as the metal is found; the grrr expressed.  The burr is rolled back to the other edge, new hackles on the blade form.

Jump in.  Pull them apart before they grind down to nothing. Take out your fine stone, change the angle a bit and hone out the burrs and ticks.  Then grab the strop.

fur rubbed smooth
the cat purrs

from Proverbs 27 kinda
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