Glass Silver Dollar

Be glad you didn't know me then: 
I was all head, 
my balls not yet descended. 
It was a time when light of experience
passed through me 
and bent and spread 
in a rainbow of separate colors. 

 I reviewed state maps, 
learned behavior demonstrated to me, 
signed on for tours: into college, into marriage, 
and was burned;
learned the terms psychologists use 
to dispose of fears.

One man wore me hung on a chain. 
My friends said he was successful.
It seems funny now, 
this being part of and not, rather like a glove 
you have and you carry about, 
but do not put on.

  Now I settle my head in a cart 
when I shop for food. 
It’s observant, infrequently rude; 
recommends I buy 
the cheapest or most expensive brands. 

 At night, 
I rest my head on a shelf beside my bed.
It rarely interferes with dreams, 
but if it’s bored, it asks me to turn on TV.   
I hear it laugh and chuckle. 
Sometimes it comments out loud.
One night it snored.. 

 We two, you might say, get along.  
It accepts the chain 
and delights in its limited status,  
but resists all change.
But, then, when I rub it with polish,  
you should see it shine, 
turn forward and back in the mirror. 

 I suppose in time 
I will put my head back in a drawer, 
but it's not yet time, not while I still have a body.
But the time will come 
when it will go out on its own.

 I can't complain. 
There's one thing a head can do nicely.  
It can still say no, say it both after and before, 
each time politely.
Politeness is too often dismissed 
with respect to either faith or war.