Monday, May 13, 2013

BAD HAIR DAY

BAD HAIR DAY
—Oh, what a tangled web we weave
Sir Walter Scott, Marmion, 1808


This morning I awoke with dreadlocks.
My granny would've dubbed it a mare's nest.
What was I doing last night,
dream-cruising with the Hells Angels?


I contemplate the massive tangle
strand by matted strand, or rather, twig by twig—
the catalyst from yesterday's losing battle
with an overgrown crepe myrtle slowly dying for years—
falls out around me like a deconstructed nest
at an archaeological dig.


As I crashed about in the underbrush,
a hummingbird watched with vested interest.
Patrolled and scolded me. Form follows form.
I was flocked with a wreath of crepe myrtle
wings, stained the color of dying royalty, or sorrow.


I spray my nest with Neat's Foot oil,
bottled with enough patience to tame
a horse's tail or the industrial-sized "kitchen"
nesting at the back of my neck.


Born with an abundance of impatience,
I once whacked my matted hair off at the nape.
I was Samson, I was Delilah. Shorn
of my long locks, I was defrocked.
I yanked on my hair to make it grow.


My mane is my Familiar, curled on my shoulder
like a ship's cat, or a feathered serpent
hissing protectively down the curve of my spine
to the trinity of sacrum, ischium and Ilium.


There was so much duff trapped in my hair,
I had to sweep it out the door.
Soon, the birds will follow like gleaners
to scoop up my hair to line their nests.

5/13

AUTO POEM


Oh great, I awoke with some serious Irish dreadlock issues this AM—my granny would've dubbed it a rat's nest. What was I doing last night, dream-cruising with the Hells Angels? It's Neat's Foot Oil time (really Citre Shine oil—and where was this product when I was young?) I contemplate the massive tangle strand by matted strand, or rather, twig by twig—the catalyst from yesterday's losing battle with the overgrown crepe myrtle that's been dying for years, falls out around me like a small deconstructed nest. Soon, the birds will follow...

O what a tangled web we weave. As I crashed about, the hummingbird scolded me. Watched my progress with interest.  Form follows form.

My mane, my Familiar, hissing protectively down the back of my spine. Went to bed w/o brushing my hair. and all hair broke loose. Some of my tangles are 2 feet long (top of head to waist)..

That was some industrial-sized "kitchen" I had at the back of my neck. Finally got it all combed out. Had to sweep the floor afterwards. In the past, I whacked it off at the nape. And regretted it.

Why I always wear it in a ponytail—even when I sleep is to keep the dreadlocks down. But this time it outdid itself. It was like a large hairy cat at the back of my neck. I tell you, Citre Shine Laminator sprayworks wonders—Neat's Foot oil (yes, what we used on the horses) orange oil and silicone. First, spray the rat's nest, then spray the brush— open smooth plastic rake or combine harvester style with bristle nub protectors, then from the bottom of your hair, work your way up the tangle very, very PATIENTLY—or you'll go bald.

I avoided short hair—too many bad butchering job. I cut off my left pigtail at the earlobe when was 4 because I could. Pixie fiasco included a perm that melted so I had an afro. Fell asleep in the tub in 8th grade and didn't rinse—another whackjob. A few summer skirmishes with my aunt Toddy who gave me a "trim." And a couple of bad salon experiences. Been cutting my own hair ever since

Hairdressers are pathological sadists when it comes to long hair. They can't help themselves—long hair makes their scissor hands itchy. They're been trained to groom every inch and long hair is like wilderness—something to be conquered and tamed.

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