The hair is growing - I can feel its stubble softening
gradually like an animate hello; it doesn’t mean I’m
forgiven for shearing it off first place - although that
could only be memory from a barbershop floor, & it
still makes a case for consultation; I’m supposed to
see it as a crowning glory ‘justification’ because it’s
where its supposed to be, & I say that is simply too
gauche - but its reasoning holds a robust sway
How do you know that baldness runs in my family I
query gently - both brothers thinning away to shiny
pates isn’t inevitability; but I’d guess the pictures of
Dad say no contest - and if that’s where it all came
from Grandma’s locks thinning in her twilight years
ends all of the redolent speculation. So maybe my
Locks-shearing’s merely a quaint form of solidarity
© 2 August 2015, I. D. Carswell
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