The Pubic Hair

The Pubic Hair


Like plucking a weed,
I pulled the misplaced pubic hair
depriving it a life
to play Repunzel for the dead
spirits grasping from the Earth
for anything left to climb higher.

This misplaced secret
that had slipped from concealment of panty
boasting itself amongst the soft leg hairs
of my inner thigh.

It stung like hell as I tweezed
and pulled its permeable root
through the soft pale skin
leaving a red speck of blood.

I lay it on the table, examine it up close
under my reading glasses then crush the root-ball
with the lead of my pencil
and examine its life source
now mashed like some sort of zit goop.

I sit back in my chair
and look at it from a distance,
worried someone might see,
and I would feel the fever of embarrassment.

This hair either plucked or in place
discomforts my inner being, as though
I would be a better person
had it never grown at all.

I wonder what someone would think
if they noticed it.
This mischievous gremlin
appointed to frame my confidence.

Yet it lies there in full view
evidence of its pitiless death,
glued down to the table
as though it seeks to find life again
on another planet. ..

as though it needs to prove its purpose
as some grossly out of place being
frightening everyone that looks at it
to hide their face in embarrassment.

I pluck it once again
denying it purpose at all,
and there it is
proud as ever between my finger tips.

I twirl it around
honoring it one last dance
then suck it away with the vacuum cleaner,
so I might find myself again - something like pretty.