My dad wore a silk stocking
over his jet black hair
when he was a kid.

Every night
he would wet it

and comb it
and make it a cap.

It was the hot steamy style
to expose the pale forehead

usually tucked under a hat.
His hair was his cadenza.

It swept back, a newly tarred road
running straight

except for the front
which rose up like a wave.

He looked dreamy
in that smoky eyed way of Brando or Dean .

His hair was the perfect accessory
for breaking the rules
as much as any man could.

My mother liked to
run her fingers through it

saying
It's his best feature, you know.

He'd smile
that sly smile,

light up a Player's

and go back
to being a study in Cool