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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