It’s a red piece of hard molded plastic,
designed to fit between third
and fourth fingers of one’s favored hand.
It’s a grooming tool, apparently.
The smooth side announces it
as an All purpose pocket brush
in English, then in French.
How continental, indeed.
The business side offers
hardened spokes, meant
to brush one’s hair,
although all purpose infers
there might be other more
crafty and treacherous uses
(spankers take note).  
It beats the old black plastic pocket comb
by an Alsatian country mile.
And it is more easily hidden
for whatever subtle tonsorial task
you might be called upon to perform
in a New York minute. I keep it
in a pocket, or even in my car’s
glove compartment, even though
asked more than once to
get rid of this handy vanity gadget.
I truly don’t recall how I came upon it.
Was it some promotional doodad?
Did some local politico come knocking
at the door, offering this pocket brush
in exchange for the promise of a vote?
Like a secret pair of lucky neon underwear
I like it – no one knows quite
what it is or even that it’s there.  
It’s a hidden treasure to keep kempt
on a gusty windswept day, especially
in this world of fickle climate change
doomed by extremities of weather.
So when Armageddon does come,
I’ll be standing to one side,
red plastic palmed off invisibly,
brushed hair defying the odds
and looking good.

Gary Glauber is a widely published poet, fiction writer, teacher, and former music journalist. He challenges reality every day. He has two collections, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press) and Worth the Candle (Five Oaks Press), and a chapbook, Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press). A new chapbook of surreal poetry is coming soon.
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