As more time passes
I am developing an advanced case of
Cockatoo hair.
It’s sticking straight up on top
I mean
I could tie a bow around it
Which would look ridiculous on a grannie.
Or I could wear a hat to train
My hair to lie down
And take it like a man.
You might laugh at the heartbreak caused
By this turn of events
And question whether I should look
At my transformation into a bird
With anguish.
But I promise you
It’s better to worry about my hair
Than to think about the world beyond
My mirror.
If it wasn’t for this fucking virus
I would go to the salon
For a styling
But here I am stuck in the house
With an electric clipper in my hand
The one my husband uses every few weeks or so
For his buzz cut
My hair is thin anyway
You can see my scalp peeking through in places
An aging thing I guess
Maybe
A buzz cut would be youthful.
I swear
I am such an optimist.
