Classified

This morning i opened the paper
to find my photograph, plain as day.
there i was, staring back at myself,
frowning in black and white-
looking as though i had some judgment
against my shirt, my english muffin,
i looked mysterious enough.

It appeared to be a want ad,
with a number at the bottom.
the hostile woman on the other line
said i had some audacity, calling-
soon enough i had lost her.

The next day, there i was again.
buried deep beneath a flowing beard,
a mountain range of wrinkles,
i hardly recognized myself under it all.
they must have blocked my calls,
it’s been so hard to concentrate since.
i can’t stop wondering what i’ve done,
or if i may as well quit shaving.