tho summertime,
he lets his hair grow long

when he wakes,
mirror just laughs,
a volcanic holy hell headed revealed,
forehead flopping, ear covering,
an unruly mess,
as a secondary metaphor,
holy insufficient

and a man does what a man can do

turns both old fashioned porcelains,
medium luke gusher eruptor is cupped,
with a two handed utensil,
a couple of scoopings
he turn faded blonde grey,
wet jet black for awhile enough

and a man does what a man can do

with less than a handful of brush strokes,
straight back they lie,
and suppressed for awhile,
but he doesn't think
"boy it's good to be a man"

no,

he study's the mirror's new reaction,
when his Cain forehead mark,
is now readily seen,
most gasp or look away,
poor mirror is fixed
and thus,
transfixed, frozen

what he thinks is this:

"good,
let the world see,
know, who I am,
and how I am marked
my holy hell is continuous,
unforgivable, deserved"
(he made her abort their baby)

but the mirror,
a simpatico old friend,
thinks the splashes will hide
his fresh tears,
but the man knows better,
yet, loves his mirror friend,
truthful image reflected,
even more for it