"Stranded"

What's hair doing there,

Where it doesn't belong?

Who would have guessed that on my breast —

And appearing only on the left —

Is one strand much darker than any other?

It consists of a texture unlike all the rest,

Including the pathetic scruff that adorns my neck

If left unchecked —

Why must my naked face remain uncovered?

Ah, wouldn't it be nice to have

Some whiskers on my chin?

Perhaps there I’d sport a beard,

But the hair still grows too thin:

Condemned to a neckbeard and

That one weird pube

Which grows upon my chest.

All the coarse-faced ones raised in this home,

And yet my skin is barren.

Except, of course, for the places where

I’d rather not have hair in.