Ever since I turned twenty-four, everyday feels like a Monday.
Nothing seems to go right. And I noticed I am balding.
Which is no big deal, I guess. I knew the hair loss
would eventually occur. Now I just sit back and watch
my hairline recede. I know bald men never find true love,
so my heart aches once in awhile. I suspect,

I am in line for many lonely nights. I also suspect,
that I will be visiting strip clubs, even on Monday
nights, that’s when the real losers come out to buy love
and affection, one song at a time. Every Bald
man knows it’s twenty for a dance and a dollar for a smile. Their watches
read three a.m. but, they are in for the long haul, lost

in the fake green eyes of a Double D dancer, named Shirley. Lost
in the idea of what could be, only if I had hair. Of course the Bald suspect
the strippers of only lusting their money. But the Bald keep waiting, watching,
hoping, that Shirley, will fall in love with them. Transforming their eternal Monday
in to a Friday afternoon. But, the lonely old bald
man I am becoming knows there is no love

to be found at the strip club. We can only purchase love
at twenty or one dollar increments. I take solace in knowing nothing is lost,
only wasted lust and bills of currency, and the seeds of future generations of Bald
men, pushed on to the lonely bathroom floor, and Juan, the bathroom attendant, suspects
self gratification is occurring in the stalls, but his English is horrible. And Monday
keeps coming, for the Bald, and Juan can’t say, “no masturbating”, he can only watch

Bald men walk in to the stalls, hear the thumping, and then watch
the Bald walk out of the stall with a defeated expression. There was no love
in the stall, only momentary relief from the strain of Monday,
and poor Juan gets a dollar tip and a embarrassed smile, there is no loss
from pimping bathroom stalls, only gain. And those poor sperm must suspect
they are headed down a dead end when they see Juan with a mop. The Bald

man then sprays Juan’s cologne on his clothing, smiles in the mirror, looks at his bald
head, thinks about hair plugs or a toupee, then goes to watch
his favorite ‘girl’ do her floor show. He gets a seat up front, waves his dollars, suspects
she sees his smiles. He would do anything for her, he has fallen in love
with Candy, but her real name is Sue. He could never tell the difference. No loss,
only gains in the Strip Club. The Bald man then goes home to get ready for Monday.

Bald men will never know true love.
We sit and watch- knowing our lives, and love, have been lost with our hair.
We do not suspect tomorrow will be Monday; we know everyday is a Monday.