Wild Hairs
Stephen Reilly


OK, so my gray hair is too long,

and my hair naturally like
Einstein without the intelligence.

This brown office glass,
my pond today,

soaks up my image clearly,
with its reflections much too clear.

My wife sees her physician.

No, nothing serious,
just one of those annual check-ups.

Our medical rituals metastasize
with each passing year.

What can I say?
I light a Kool.

An immature act?
Foolish? Perhaps. No doubt.

If you lived in Florida
or visited your parents more often,

then you might get a real feel

for aging's arthritic kick to your groin,
a bully leaning against a rusted gate,
​
always ready to rub your face in the dirt.​