Treasure Island

Mark R Slaughter


Hair


At the barber’s chair
the spent hair fell
I balked at yet
another depth of grey

age will pay
for Death is winking
and as it caught my wrinkles
with coarse and wiry haulms

it jeered and sneered in fun
another run
towards a keen but
patient stone

denoting where
so soon
I’d lie alone.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011

Submitted: Saturday, October 22, 2011
Edited: Saturday, November 12, 2011

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