My hair’s growing longer
So when I’m in the shower
I pull on locks
That tug easily,
Feel them twitch
And spring forth
In earnest
Like rubber bands from my scalp
Eager to be freed of their
Greasy prison
Dead the day they were born
Yet growing
Each moment
Nonetheless,
Subject to colorings, trimmings, tanglings,
And other forms of hairy torture.
I pinch the strands between thumb and forefinger
Peel them off my wet, hot skin.
Consider them.
With a firm-fingered grip,
I hold them a sliver away from the flowery plastic curtain,
A space for a tiny breath.
Synthetic daffodil and locks inhale,
Sucking
Simultaneously,
Sticking together.
There is a sign I see that says
“Do Not Disturb,”
And so I do,
Swirling strands
Shapeshifting new life from
Tiny death,
My beautiful frankensteins.
Consider them.
The dead
Animated
Will soon be washed down the drain into filth
On Tuesday
When a woman comes
To clean the house.
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