head like a glistening moon.

 

 

 

I hate my hair after I pray

and for that

I do all my serious praying in the dark

 

because

 

when wet, it looks  on the sides, like babies hair.

Don't worry, it's not. I keep the

Head and Shoulders nearest the

light switch to remind me of the days

 

selfish,

 

when certain hair scents would

send me in a rage.

 

That's right!

 

Thru the house, knocking s**t over,

holding the cat upside down,

leaving the refrigerator door open.

All the mild things of Black anarchy

that can be done in half-darkness.

 

And if you remember the seventies at all,

it was cold when we met. Dark when winter

cut the days short and the universe was

overfed and full of misty tricks.

 

It was as brunet as a Zulu charge. What I mean

is that the crush of night is tribal. The price

I pay (I imagine) for being ordinary.

 

I shave my head now like the little girl at

the cancer clinic, just to make shadows in

a raging sea; call the candle flies to lite.

 

Thick,

 

mate, then fall out exhausted and

hungry. as if it were they and

not me, who was balding.

Reviews

[Pryde Foltz]

Hell hath no fury like a woman having a bad hair day ;) Good for you for rising above.

Yes, but we do lose sight of what's really important sometimes. A fantastic satirical piece.

[Ken Simm.]

A write that is so overwhelmingly full of, personal history, thoughts, moods, and poetic layers that it almost confounds. It reaches deep this but mnages to say it all in superbly crafted language with more than a hint of wit and self effacing irony.
It is, in all a remakable write that il stay with me for a long time.