american idol

American Idol

 

I look closely
into the mirror, peering
at what seems to be a gray
hair, a three inch weed sprouting
from among the tufts of my
Samson-esque golden locks.
I pluck it out,
carefully, with tweezers, so as not to
disturb and possibly convert
the other hairs.
I hold it up to the
light and stare at it for
minutes.  I stare so long
that it slowly begins to
shift in color.
I see the waves of sunlight on beaches,
the shine of smooth stones skipping across still lakes,
the smell of ice creams and cotton candies and corndogs at state fairs,
and I realize

Dinner is burning in the oven
I am missing American Idol
I am dying