Terrapin

The loggerheads left for deeper waters-
Not so this fellow by the side of the road.
He lives in his head here,  at rest in roadside salad,
A monument I can stand over.  I study the
Mustard and tar glyphs in each panel along his back.
There I see his landing, what was conferred, and
His decision to stay.  But I worry he may change his
Mind and try to cross the road. Maybe not in time.
But there is something final about his withdrawal:
The seamless hatch, the archeology of his helmet.

Later in the barbershop I ask the barber to shave my head.
I close my eyes, purse my lips and pinch my nose. The
hair fails like clumps of snow and I hear myself say,
"This is the new world."  Later still my phrenologist 
Runs his fingers across the braille of my bald head.
"There is nowhere to go," he says. "You are already there."