Running little finger tips over my
hairy lip and chin with thought,
a comforting rub,
a contemplative pass,
a curious stroke,
this facial hair acting as a kind of
consideration lightning rod, instead
of twirling part of it with villainy
and a desire to kidnap a damsel,
I tweak at it with comprehension,
at planning and solving the myriad
problems my work throws,
my security rough.