besides
the gray red man
he's bald and needs a haircut
a bowl holds pho
sprouts and basil too
he throws
like a produce toupee
on the hot head of soup,
then pulls it closer
to his center of mass

his beard like moss
soaks up spoonfuls
dropping salty dew
off gray grass that
sins back in
the well of
bouillon

he begins
to think of
when
he lost his hair

(looking down, there)

mouthfuls of
age noodles
he couldn't bear
to gulp down

so he ate
The Soup of Losses
and
tosses up
pho
this
hour

memories of soup
devoured
by him and lament
besides