Tufts of hairy crabweed
sprout from my temples
like crazy hemp
in the rabbit hole
of an all day tea party.
I happen to descend
from a whole line
of fertile Mad Hatters,
resistant to most sanity.
My forebears flattened
theirs in Brylcreem
with results even Bonaparte
would envy.
The edges stuck out
from my father’s flattop
and grew to a hedge maze
that hid him from me,
like a mock turtle.
willow, 2010
