We Dwell in the Profoundest Cosmos You Can Imagine

Whenever the young man sees
Old men with unkempt eyebrows
Waving wispy antennas

He thinks, what are they thinking
To let themselves go like that?
The early middle-aged man,

Accordingly, trims his brows
Neatly to show he’s well-groomed,
Still suitable for mating.

The later middle-aged man
If he’s lucky, is partnered
To someone who’s eagle-eyed,

Who monitors brows for him
If barbers fail to mow them.
One year, the old man lapses

Somewhere, starts to let things go,
And mornings in the mirror
Notices his wild eyebrows,

And thinks to himself, those look
Good on me. Starts to comb them
Skyward, daily, heavenly.