Eschew Your Otologist

Saint Paul, 7 September 2003

You know those antlers you spoke of?

Actually it’s the branch-like brachia protruding

Like some kind of fibrous coppice from your ears

This kind of thing happens in your mid-forties

In virile decades appealing lassies clung like metal filings

To the siren song of a horseshoe magnet

Irrigated from nap-time drool, harmless facial hairs grow

To transform your ear flaps into a deciduous armature

Time to eschew your otologist for a certified arborist

You have the mythological features of a ten-point buck

Yet your magnetry is limited to hoofed ruminant mammals

Prune your orifice hairs before you lose your senses