— Dennis Richardson
After walking the length and breadth of Lisbon
for four days and nights, no easy feat,
my legs got up last night and left me, didn’t even
bother to say good bye. I floundered in bed
all morning until brunch when they returned.
And about the number of hairs on my head, lord,
I’ve reached that part of my life where
I don’t need divine intervention to help
with the counting of said hairs anymore.
In the shower I can hear them saying there goes one,
there goes another one. Being a teacher, I taught
them to add. But a month later when the total
got to two hundred seven, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I told them to stop. A few of them got together
in a silver patch, the advanced group. One said to me,
here’s a word problem for you: at this rate, how long will it take
you to go completely bald? Ha,Ha,Ha,Ha, they mock me.
I wish I could convince them not to jump ship,
to hold on tighter, but the trouble is I don’t know
if an attachment disorder is when one holds on
too tightly or when one lets go too soon.
I worry too about the sounds my eardrums are making
and the light bouncing off my slippery retina, but at least
my legs came back and are holding to their positions.
My hair, on the other hand, is pretending to be
stranded on the desert island of my bald spot.
Well, I’m going to take another shower now. After I
wash my hair I’ll put on some extra hair thickener.
I just love to hear them complain about feeling bloated.