Grew as big and bushy
as the black forest grove
on the face of John L. Lewis,
head of the workers union
who appeared on newsreels
of the 1930’s Great Depression.
The older I got, the more my
eyebrows took off without any
warning, resembling a hayfield
before getting baled for a barn.
While I was asleep, I could hear
the snip, snip, snip of my wife
trimming my brows— the juice of
her loving devotion that lubricates
the wheels of our harmonious bond.