My girlfriend has long, thick silver hair.
Like some Christmas tree tinsel princess.
On occasion, a piece of tinsel weaves its way into my food.
I once suggested she wear a hairnet while cooking.
She said, "This isn't a restaurant, and I'm not a waitress.
Besides, you've had worse things in that mouth,".
She has never spoken truer words.
So now I pull the tinsel from my pie hole
in a dollop of dignified silence.
Leaving no suggestions nor tip.
love is a biscuit –
spread with jam or dunked in tea
according to mood//
love is a hairnet
catches stray strands to hold them
gently, and softly//
love is a mirror
reflected affinity
in each other’s eyes//
love is a window;
look inside; you see your soul –
look out, see the world//
love is an apple
make apple pies or cider –
it’s your decision//
love is an orange;
squeeze out the last single drop
then make candied peel//
love’s a banana –
yellow outside, white inside
feisty yet tender//
love’s a bicycle
two wheels moving in tandem
like kindred spirits//
love’s a tangerine –
easy-peel, many segments
fragrant smell lingers//
Stood Barefoot
In a Hairnet and Curlers
Starring at your Wedding Dress
I don't care if it is Unlucky
To see my Bride before the Wedding
Because for me
I simply can not wait for all this fuss to be over
And we can start out our new life together
And I have you all to myself
Until Death do us Part
Aunt Ruth came to the door in her housedress and hairnet.
Her dark hair cropped short allowing only the smallest curl to float free.
It was right in the middle of her forehead. A spit curl I think they called it.
We would visit her weekly just so see how she was doing. Ruth was said to have bad nerves, a term used then to mean all kinds of things from anxiety to alcoholism.
I never really knew what it meant.
I think I do now.
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