Just one recalcitrant patch of hair
by the left ear refuses to join the crowd
and age, thrusting itself into glaring
visibility with assertive determination
while pronouncing, “This is who you
once were: dark-haired, youthful,
full of unexplored opportunities and
unwritten adventures. Now look at you:
gray, wrinkled, no longer attractive or
desirable, perhaps wiser but maybe not.
Yet the brown hair in its stubbornness
mocks aging, that graceful slippage,
that inevitable decline signaling
the end is nearer than the beginning.
Then why is it still so difficult to greet
that stranger walking past a window?
