My head
Like most other parts of this dysfunctional disproportionate body
Hurts
It aches like a shelled Japanese chili peanut under a moderately large sumo's foot
Aches like soggy uneaten pancakes
Aches like too-firm handshakes
Its existence is conceivably, more or less, futile
If not, I must be doing something right;
Or wrong
Or... both
Regardless, it has something to say
Which is usually the role my mouth plays
But who's keeping count?
It says, if it were wearing hats, they'd go off to you
And probably the reasonably-priced toupee too
The derby, the hobo, the fedora, the beret
The wig liner
It, in all its cluttered and convoluted emotions,
Finds itself utterly proud of you and your decision
Your decision to cut ties -- with a hand and maybe a slight jerk of the elbow -- with her
Your decision to wait with your brain, wait with your body, wait with your palpitating hungry heart
Your decision that you made with your head, in fact
A part of mine wants to join with yours
In holy matrimony and cute headwraps and maybe even yarmulkes
When they're feeling cultural
But that want can be kept in a box for a while
Left in storage for when my mentality can capacitate it
When yours can too
When yours can want it too
When yours can make that decision with mine
And they can be cute soulmate-type things
But until then--
If then does feel like coming
If God allows then to be
Well--
Hats off to you.