By Trish Kerrison
Tight-curls loosen, lose control,
flatten out,
succumb to frizz,
hyper-straight struggle to maintain rigidity
in the face of hell-bent kinks,
ebony-dyed show off tram-line roots as if relieved
to let illusion slip,
perfectly-shaped bob, we were so jealous of, is free
to curl, wave, flick,
Silvers out-colour youth with home rinse
electric blues, purples, garish pinks,
layered and blended imagine
seamless transitions from the snipping
clips of amateur scissors but find themselves
trimmed into haircut lucky dip
where a single hair’s breadth separates
cat-cool cut
from tail of rat
and the sudden, all-consuming urge
to wear a hat.
I belong to local writing and poetry groups, including Cathy Grindrod’s Writer Highway. I am currently engaged in a project documenting my experiences as a long-term carer in poetry.
Your observations have been neatly styled into this poem.