Sitting in the hairdressers' chair on the last Friday of summer
I refuse the black mask and flat-brimmed hat
but allow myself to be reverse wrapped in Zorro’s black cape -
the many mirrored reflections of my fellow caped crusaders reproach me,
forcing me to wonder what the masked avenger would make of it all.
Perhaps El Zorro would fall into a slough of despond,
despairing at the absence of waving swords and cracking bullwhips,
or perhaps he would get excited by the technologies of the future,
and (after carving a “Z” in the wall) gallop off into the night
to find an adult education class in
“how to use chemicals, heat and aluminium foil”.
I don’t know about my caped companions but I’m betting
El Zorro would choose night classes over self imposed exile in the marshlands,
I can imagine him swashbuckling through the glass doors of the salon,
loudly proclaiming that he has come to join the fight
against the (newly imagined) injustices of the 21st century -
age, desire, ambition.