For the Fuzz, illustrated by David Fleischmann

For the fuzz


Now that it’s refused me, I’ll refuse hair.
That’s how I decided twelve years ago
to strip my head razor-clear and take air,
snow and sight without the diplomacy
of coiffure. Know my mind, world. It is here.

Since the divorce, my do has kept a low
profile, though I spot it on the fringes
at times. It has never regained the glow
it had when my follicles were engines,
the sex machines of our honeymoon years.

Now, Fine Gray Fuzz, I sometimes get twinges
when I see some full-headed guy, recall
you at Burning Man, my shock of orange.
At 22, we pulled a ponytail.
How could I ever have cursed you, Jewfro?

I was young and could complain my gall out
without recognizing there’d be fall out.

By Free Radical, David Fleischmann

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