Hairbrush

Here come the hair-

raising, the breathtaking,

here come those thrills,

unbridled, the brash

exploits, the stupidities

of my youth. Here come

lumps in the throat,

come the tenterhooks,

the midnight sirens, the red-

eyed vigils, come the ticking time

bombs, the police pounding

on the front door.

Here come those sordid

stories my children shouldn't

have told me. Here comes my hair-

brush with more loose hair

with each passing morning.