Poet's Corner - Hair

Sometimes I hate that "What'sApp" video

why does it always ring when I'm

dressed in a towel and my hair's like a bird's nest?

Here I am, age over 70, still a vain

slave to my hair – my frizzy, curly hair.

I've always envied those girls.

With hair they could toss

hair they could wash, leave, and look great.

Straight.

Only THEY could go swimming

and look good afterwards,

or rush in radiant from the rain

Not worrying they would soon

look like a Brillo pad.

Shallow, jealous me.

YOU wanted to be a better person

help mankind?

I wanted long lank hair.

Every six months I would have my hair

Straightened

torture that left it straight

but dry and split.

And those nights!

Try sleeping with two massive rollers

on top of your head

with the rest of your hair wound round

all kept in place with toilet paper.

No wonder I led a moral life.

"And what about the color"?

Ha! I was grey. Once.

For about a year.

I remember the day I went to visit

An elderly friend in her retirement home

someone in the lift asked me

what floor my room was on.

I had no choice but to

return to being "Medium Brown".

Recently, at a charity luncheon

I met someone with such lovely hair.

She said it was a wig!

So yes, I've bought a "hair piece"

Just for emergencies.

It falls to my shoulders

and changes me into someone else.

STILL CRAZY AFTER ALL THESE YEARS