Putty In Her Hands
I am waiting for my hair to dye
Because I look like a skunk, which I think is amazing
But bothers my first and last husband.
He is clean and neat. Prissy. He likes things done up.
He likes a made bed.
Not me.
I read that bedbugs cannot survive in an unmade bed.
While I wait I am flinging stupidity down onto pages.
I read them and I think “what am I doing?”
But my muse is encouraging me, and I am putty
in her hands.
If my hair timing buzzer does not go off pretty soon,
you will know more about me than you ever cared to know.
And I will roll my eyes tomorrow and ask “Why?”
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