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Shower Hair

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


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,



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


Will soon be washed down the drain into filth

On Tuesday

When a woman comes

To clean the house.

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