Friday, September 22, 2006

In Chicago, My Hair is a Whole Different Person

It’s the humidity. No. It’s the heat.
Either way, suddenly, my hair
has a mind of its own. The usually neat
tidy strands, fill with water. No hair care
product can keep it in check. It’s wild,
footloose, a coif with no inhibitions,
hair on the loose, like an impudent child
suddenly allowed out. It’s a bitch, one
damn thing after the next, each tangle
with a complaint or idea of her own.
Each heads out at a different angle
determined to look wind blown,
sexy. It doesn’t work. I look like that
psycho killer housewife. I need a hat.


middlebrow said...

Can this be part of a whole shampoo poetic sequence? I think so. Perhaps an anthology: Poems about Hair in all Kinds of Weather.

ErinAlice said...

Maybe middlebrow could write a limerick about it, or perhaps a letter?

Anonymous said...

Lynn - This cracked me up -- welcome to my world! I sent it to a bunch of my girlfriends! I also love your TV show critiques and the piece on signs of fall. We don't have school Monday and are going to the apple orchard and pumpkin patch with friends...wich I could send you a pumpkin...
xoxo, Kristi