Hairy Mole

On your chin
is where I stay,
put there by
your DNA.

Unsightly dot!—
I’d rather hide
in privacy
on your backside,

inside your thigh,
behind your knee.
Instead I’m set
for all to see.

From my pore
one bristly hair
grows long and brown.
See it there?

Straight as grass,
the hair I sprout,
long as an eyebrow’s.
Pluck it out.

Wax it off,
shave or hack.
The root is deep.
The hair grows back.

I have darkened
in the sun
in the fifty years
since you’ve been one.

I’ll be with you
even when
you’re in your coffin.
Even then.

Until that time
if you can’t prize me,
look away
but don’t despise me.