Big Hair Poets



I have the potential to be a big hair poet, at least with the hair part. My hair gets big when: I brush it and oddly enough when I do not brush it. On Tuesdays and Thursdays when I teach, I can’t seem to get the rhythm right with the commute, showering, tying it up, letting it dry especially in the winter grey mornings.

So this week I embraced it. Instead of trying to tie it back, I dug my fingers and messed up the hair a little more.

This moment before class when I could not tame the tresses with a hair band, and I was left with a choice to leave it as is or make it a bit bigger made me think about the personas we project around us. There is poet-professor I know who plays the part of tweed-coat-wild-grey-black-hair-unshaven-slightly-angry-poet professor so well. Does he know he is playing it? Does he try to or do his untucked button-ups and elbow patches just come naturally to him.

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