Lament for my Arm Hair ( file under inevitable loss)

Several times a week,
Do I smell that familiar scent of,
OFF!

Reaching my arm as I do,
In contempt of fire,
Into the ring for a pan or a pot, a steak or a piece of fish.

Only to discover,
That my nose hairs begin to dance,
With that scent that can only be thrown by flame meeting hair.

Lament for my arm hair,
Oh yes indeed,
Looking down to discover a bare arm, where once there was hair.

And now what is this,
But a shriveled and disheveled,
Barren area of my arm that has been freed from its follicles by flame.

Several times a week,
Do I smell that oh so familiar scent,
Of my arm hair diminishing and in a weird kind of way I can for only a moment glimpse,
That which bows down on my grill or my flame,
And how it must feel,
But only for a moment,
For while I lament my hair,
I celebrate my journey.

Are you celebrating your journey? Are you dreaming big and inspired?

Logan Pearsall Smith once said “There is more felicity on the far side of baldness than young men can possibly imagine”

I couldn’t agree more.

A la prochaine

SDM