Baldness skips a generation,
But I’ve never met my father
And I don’t know if I was meant to lose my hair
At twenty-one

Asking a girl from her pillow
If she’d still think I was handsome
With my eyebrows burned away by
Holy water in my veins

For warding off the vampires
Like the stake in my arm, the garlic on my breath
Lending flavor
To endless gray hospital food

That they served me for a summer
After the wind blew off my hair
And it returned in the winter
The color of autumn leaves