Hair Fight
She gathers her arms for her nightly fight
to do battle with her hair, to “get it right”
she’s been cursed with unruly, super fine hair
that won’t cooperate and flies everywhere.
Oh, to have thick, voluminous hair
so sheik, so silky, so shiny and fair
spun layers of gold, or deep auburn flair
or lovely chestnut tones, “fabu-lair”!
But, alas, unwanted whispy is she
as she settles into her pin-curl “soirée”
she wrestles her head scarf to keep it tight
and prays it “stays put” while she sleeps at night.
In the morning, her second round fight resumes
unpinning her curls, knows they’ll fall flat real soon
next comes the teasing, the crimping, the spray
knowing the volume won’t last half a day.
Then sighing, with hand mirror, checks every spot
every turn, every angle, she does this a lot
I wait for my mother to finish her hair
If “it isn’t right” we’re not going anywhere!
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