He Cuts His Hair Twice A Year

Mira que si te quise fué por el pelo,
Ahora que estás pelona,
Ya no te quiero. -- Frida Kahlo

Maybe you could attribute this idiosyncrasy
To his leaving Vietnam
When he was ready to DEROS from USARV
Standing in line in Saigon
Only to be told he needed yet another haircut
His third of the day
That required going back to the end of the line,
So now he cuts his hair twice a year
On the Solstice
To watch it grow with the changing of days
The yin and yang of his hair growing longer
As the days lengthen, or lessen,

Or maybe you could say it was the Plaza barber
Who refused to cut his shoulder length pilosity
So he cut it himself
On June 21st, 1975
Never to set foot in a barber shop again
Having his wife cut it when needed
Until they divorced,
Not knowing what to do
Until he sought refuge from an acquaintance
Who cut hair out in her garage
For people like him
Always making his appointment
On the shortest and longest days of the year,

But he himself would tell you right now
That it is all the fault of Frida Kahlo,
Not really a fault, but a blessing
After seeing her self portrait:
Sitting in a straight backed chair
Dressed in a man’s suit
Her waist length tresses
Cut off and strewn about
Like pieces of a dismembered body
Blaming it on her lover
Whom she has cut off
Just like her hair.

He weeps as his hair is cut, and recites:

“If I wanted to look like you
It’s because of your hair,
Now that I am bald
I do not want you.”