Monday Musings - Virile 4

December 19, 2016

Whether waved in noir or Viking blond or

whiskey finished with war hammer

 

curls or earth toned as the ground on which

every step ahead treads heavier than

 

the tracks we leave behind, the hairs that

drop from our boyhood heads are pure.

 

Those same strands, once soldier strong, now

let dull their lustrous blades, shade

 

in future grays until spring-soft fairgrounds

linger where battles once were waged

 

while all our Delilah-shaped carousels go

round no more; they, too, 

 

are swept swiftly away by thick broom bristles

while we are aftershaved, powdered 

 

and forgotten except in the one barber’s shop

that welcomes us all for a snip and shave 

 

no matter how few hairs prevail on our seasoned

scalps; its eternal pole spins ad infinitum 

 

ready to restore every new day that rises in our

east to settle in the west.

 

Trigonis 12/11/11

 

 

 

 

Every Monday, GJC will be sharing a poem from John T. Trigonis, a local JC Heights resident, poet, writer, and coffee aficionado, in our Monday Musings.

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