Whiskers On My Chin
J
Juan Olivarez
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The wind tugs at the whiskers,
That reside on my chin.
Longer now in November,
Than They've ever been.
Pulling with might,
At the silver and grey,
Leaving my face,
In total disarray.
I know I look a sight,
When I'm out in the wind.
I could cut them off,
But where to begin.
But t'would be my character,
That would take a big hit.
So devoid of laughter,
That I might pitch a fit.
In essense these whiskers,
Say a lot about me.
Maybe I'll knit some knickers,
If I just let them be.
11/20/2012 Alton Texas
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