On Head

by Stoney Emshwiller

HEAD, when you think
of it, is what
birthdays are really
all about.

This is certainly true
for the male
of the species.
For a man,
once he has
attained the age
of consent
(or proudly
aimed his first
chubby t'ward
the heavens —
whichever comes first),
nothing can top
a rousing round
of hooverism
as the ultimate
caring gift
of love.

Women, perhaps,
would be
more interested
in a nice pair
of sandals.

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