haircut

sat as i am, fresh haircut, park bench
after autumn rain, puddled with leaves
wrapped in silence so thick
the very earth could be my bed
sleepy, the moment impresses static
instead of the copy paste you push
out of mind each morning upon waking
before it all happens again anyway
i’ll admit, some do say it goes by quick
but what acceleration, what speed
carting you from that first foolish fumble
18 years old—bit late to be a virgin still
to hearing your hairdresser tell a child
she, the same age as you all those years ago
both with no clue
now you’re not, but not only that, mixed in
fear held as long as memory recalls
of inevitable claps on shoulders
and altogether new sinews of thought
to welcome the kip
and enjoy the rest – no one told me that
and of course autumn doesn’t speak in words
but asks anyway, watch my leaves
be witness for this won’t happen again
tho i grant you —
appearances can be deceiving

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