hair

I’m not sure I should have done it, the hair I cut last night.

It was mine I’m pretty sure, so, I probably should like it.

Now it’s in the trash buried under coffee grounds

and is good as forgotten, my bald scalp a reminder

that beauty fades, as they say, though if I were to amend that

saying I would probably say it isn’t beauty that does,

but our elasticity and symmetry, since you can be ugly

as sin and still be beautiful, a relationship nobody realizes

for sure. If you want to know what I think

there should be a place in every town where ugly wins,

where facial warts and skin tags get names and are fed

caviar and truffle, and I know, wouldn’t it be great,

where that pesky back fat you can no longer find your butt

underneath is kissed all hours of the night with tongue.

Ugly should be put into gated communities and allowed

to flower lopsidedly by neglect into shitake mushroom-

headed creatures one can be in awe of until of course

you start to show signs of it yourself, at which time

it’s time to just cut it off and think of the ugly

as something you were on your way to becoming yourself,

but with help from forces unseen, were able to make

peace with and even offer a job to, so kind you became

with the help of the ugly.

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