In front of a morning’s first mirror

I stand

and pretend

                for only a few moments, mind you,

I pretend that it really matters how my hair looks (or looked)

                                or if my part was straight—

                                                   straight enough—

                                                                  for whom?—

and, then,

I smile warmly,

                    rather than wistfully recall 

all the hairs I had

                           before their fall

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