"Upon shaving off one's beard." The scissors cut the long-grown hair; the razor scrapes the remnant fuzz. Small-jawed, weak-chinned, bug-eyed, I stare at the forgotten boy I was.

When you own a pair of haircutting scissors, you cut your own hair constantly.

He's very neat, his hair is cut, he has a beard...his mustache well trimmed. His face is shaved, I mean he just did not appear to be a homeless person.

I can see one of them clearly now, walking
along with a newspaper tucked under his arm.
he has cut himself shaving and a bit of tissue
with a circle of blood is stuck to his cheek,

I told him he couldn't have it all. So he pulled out this razor thing and cut off part of the mouse. He put it in a plastic bag and took it away. That's the last we heard until now.

He'd have mattress ticking in his beard and in his hair.