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