The stubble outline
of a freshly shaved head
forces a question:
was this a choice or
was it a default?
I watch with
bemused recognition
their vainglorious and
futile fight
against the ravages
of time
I embrace the wrinkles
on my face
in the hope they’ll
resemble the wrinkles
on my brain
I offer this prayer
to the Eternal God:
let me accept
this entropy
gracefully
gratefully
to err is human
to forgive, divine
so
I forgive my eyes
their diminishing clarity
I forgive my knees
their weakening
as I keep climbing
the endless ladder
I forgive my arteries
my penis
and my ears
for their complicity
and silent betrayal
I forgive God
for denying me
the time machine
that the advertising culture
keeps promising me
and I’ll just buy
looser fitting pants
and forego that
second helping
of fried chicken
but I’m not
buying a toupee
or shaving my head.