Sucking Chest Wound

Cleveland died today. Well he actually died two weeks ago but I just wanted to steal and alter Camus' famous opening line because its one of my favorites.

Death is a natural and regular occurrence in life but this doesn't make it any less a cause for sadness. Cleveland was proof that I am becoming a real man and his passing is marked by a feeling of loss. I was always a late bloomer. Reaching 5' tall in eighth grade was a milestone, even though everyone else it seemed had achieved this a year or two previously. Hell, I don't think I even started growing armpit and pubic hair until I was close to 15.

My beautiful and flawless existence has always been dogged, or besmirched if you like dirty images, by my body's inability to catch up to my age. Then finally, against all belief, I grew my first chest hair this year. On the barren white plane that is my chest a hair dared to grow and flourish, and so it was only natural to name the hair, the Atlas supporting the weight of my masculinity, Cleveland.

Oh did we have good times! We saw movies together, drank together, made love in one another's presence, were even comfortable enough to provide each other company on the toilet. Cleveland became a constant companion, and not just because he was physically attached to me. But I took my bronze wire-like friend for granted. I stopped shampooing him, combing him, applying various thickening tonics, or spiking gel for those "punk" days. Then two weeks ago I looked down to give a silent howdy to him, and he was gone. Sure I now have Mitch and Bob (right pectoral and upper chest respectively) and they are great, but Cleveland was my first, and I suppose in many ways my only.

To eulogize him, I give you this, my only poem written of my own volition*:

"Ode to Cleveland"

You were a lone sprig of hope in a fallow field of nakedness
A bronzed ringlet nestled against cream made solid
A constant companion you were, silent, intimate
I took you for granted
You, my hope, my reassurance, my one, my man-hair, my Cleveland
I knew that "all things must pass" and you are no exception
This hollowed soul you leave behind my never mend
Though you may be usurped, you will never be replaced
You, my hope, my reassurance, my one, my man-hair...
My Cleveland**

* I don't write poetry
** This is written in free verse because we are talking about a damn chest hair. A meter and rhyme scheme would be excessive to say the least.

::GringO::