Hair crowded his body:
facial hair, chest hair,
hair through the back of his hands.
He was always a frozen transformation scene
from “The Wolf-Man.”
He had so little skin.
How do you love a man
who sprouts more than he towers,
like loving Renoir for the paint
Bergman for the celluloid.
My own father
would shave in the morning
and be done with it.
Hair was easily contained.
I could make connection
between his cheeks and mouth arid chin..
His chest was brown and clear
from working in the sun.
And I could see the strength in his hands,
felt what lifted me.
Ricardo confided in me
that his father could not find work,
and I figured it was because
no one would ever hire such a jungle.
He added that his parents were separated,
Once again, how do you love
the camouflaged man?
He said he saw him just on weekends,
looked forward to
those bright, sunny Saturdays.
He spoke of razors of warmth and light.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Stillwater Review and Big Muddy Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River Poetry Review.
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