I find myself embarrassed by my hair Not by that which I have but rather by That part of it which seems no longer there And orients my temples to the sky
But when it all grows back from summer's buzz In familiar forgiving disarray All will fall into place the way it was
Until the next impulsive summer day
I might as well forget it now because The next impulse will be a year away I will wash and comb whatever I can
When in summer I buzz my hair I say:
"This looked better as a boy than a man Before all those coerced 'yes'es A convicted man confesses"
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