an ode to the hairs on my chinny chin chin

There are many ugly hairs
that sprout out of my chin.
I pluck them out or shave them off
but they just come back in.

Back in my more girlish years
I had just one or two.
But after I turned thirty-five
a mighty forest grew.

Now it makes no difference
how much I depilate.
A quick look in the mirror and
I’ll spot one more or eight.

I carry tweezers with me
because I never know
when a wild chin hair will appear
and it will have to go.

Someday I will just give up
And without shedding a tear
I’ll stand up tall, puff out my chest
and grow a fucking beard.