Stranded on the road the other day dripping
to the last strand of hair,
the buses that whooshed by me tripping
could, barely care.
T’was all I could do to hail a cab or two,
but none came.
And the dear hair smelled, pooh!
A time there was when the towel teeming
with black noodles,
would frown in agony and stare seething
at the hairy puddles.
From atop my head hair would be stolen
by the town big and bad.
Spooky bald heads would vex me swollen
before sleep could be had.
Like in all good stories then, came to my aid
Gran, wise but whining.
“Never knew one who tied her hair such.” said
the dame, sighing.
“Let the tresses breathe; trash the band clinging
to your head.
I’ll get you nice cloth-clips, they are not gagging
like that dread!”
“Oil is old school eh?” Gran snorted, mocking
the dried land.
“Every week you oil and then see how focusing
on me is grand.”
“Kids today swear by their conditioner and yet
you tap it not.
The middle-hair to tip, dandruff girl, is the bet,
the scalp can do without.”
“We lived by the stream, and the blossoms red
our hair shone on touch.
Your city with its layers of dust, doesn’t, I’m afraid
But a little less of that ugly iron, and more of that
and that colour hidden till you’re grey and fat,
can still rescue.”
My Grandmother is pleased today, with my hair
And the big bad city, oh, it can no longer dare,
So dear people with hair woes, your needs
can all be met.
For hair that smiles and bounces with health
isn’t all that hard to get!
(Image from Deviantart)
* written as a part of Dove – “Love is a two way street: Love your hair and it loves you back!” – contest on Indiblogger. Read and share more love stories here. 😀