My Hair

One day when
I’m old and bold
I’ll write a poem about my hair
about how I used to stand
minute after minute
poking, pruning, twisting
and
touching
showing anyone who saw me
my most vain and effeminate
tendencies

One day when
I grow a full beard and wear glasses
to compensate
for my baldness
I’ll write a poem about
my constant desire to change the style
and shape
of my precious locks
about how girlfriends
used to accuse me
of checking out my own reflection
in car windows
and how I used to deny it point blank
even though
it was true

One day when
I spend endless hours
wearing an array of hats
to hide my nude scalp
I’ll write a poem about
the pennies
I threw at products
for my prime look
about the frustration and fascination I had
with the thin tufts
of light brown
balanced above my brow

I’ll write that poem
then
and lament
or
write that poem
and blow my life savings on plugs
either way
one day
when
it’s all gone
but
not now
not yet