is relaxing by the pool drinking 

Tia Maria for its reportedly high 

​

zinc content. My brain has slipped 

out of it’s uncomfortable skull, 

​

that has my scalp and hair on it, 

popped that safely under the lounger, 

​

and is lying on its front 

on a hotel towel 

​

taking it easy after 

a hard morning’s “fiddling” as my 

​

brain puts it. It’s lathered in factor 

50 that a passing celebrity chef 

​

has helpfully massaged into it 

because it has no hands 

​

or any other means 

to do that for itself, 

​

and it would certainly burn in no

time in the Canary Island’s sun 

​

without any protection 

against the UV rays. 

​

Down on the beach yesterday 

my klutzy brain got

​

sand in its cracks, and 

the celebrity chef just unexpectedly 

​

fished some of it out as he 

applied the sunscreen, working it deep 

​

into the sulci. 

It glistened on his fingertips 

​

like a cluster of minuscule jewels,

and looking up from those 

​

glinting constellations 

he wondered for a moment 

​

at the whole world’s dreamt-up

system of values. My brain sensed 

​

his wondering and smiled. 

Have you ever seen a hot 

​

brain smile beneath the noonday sun?

It’s kind of cute.