asks me
what my hair color is.
she waits as i think about it.
well,
i start off.
it used to be blondish
brown,
like brush, you know
on a long
field with the sun shining
down on it.
think of autumn.
go on, she says, not writing
any of this down.
how many decades ago
was that sir?
i sense her impatience.
the room is full
of foot tapping people
holding
old license plates.
well, yes, i have aged,
i tell her, and now when
i decide to let it grow
out a little, it's a color
i like to call, platinum.
no, she says.
here's your choices.
black, brown, blonde
and grey.
choose one.
or none.
okay, okay. let's go with
none for now.
she stamps my form
and tells me
to walk over there for
a photo.
my right side is my best
side, i tell her.
whatever, she says. NEXT!
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