Homo sapiens hirsutus

Happening to glance at my left forearm the other day, Dark brown skinned and hairy I notice that more hair have turned white. Someday, if I live long enough, My left forearm would turn all white The darkness of my brown skin, but not of my mind, hidden, hopefully.

Looking at the tuft, the bushy growth of hair On my chest ( ah, not on my head!), again white ( why grey?) I wistfully remember how, dark, how black it once were.

I hardly need a mirror these days, having not much On the head to comb and pat them down.

I cling on (and at times nips at) The vestige of my manhood, my moustache Bristling, drooping bicycle handlebars, The beard I dare not grow For fear of incurring my partner’s wrath.

I remember - Hair, growing, dark, In dark and exciting places Darkening shadows Of the emerging adulthood.

Shadows lean, now. They grow oblong, as the Sun approaches dusk. One day, my precious hair, Would be the first to catch fire…