{August 1, 2012}   Beauty Shop

I never knew the color of my mother’s hair.

She had it dyed and styled once a week

while I sat in a swivel chair.

When she sat under the dryer

I’d see how long I could hold my breath,

sickened by the rotten-egg smell of a permanent.

Then, I’d watch them tease her hair

until it looked like a patch of briars,

followed by the wrapping of the beehive bun,

tightened by bobby pins and wire.

I knew soon it would be my turn

to sit in the chair and have my hair done.

I’d disappear, hide behind the Coke machine,

pretend to be a statue, face covered by a magazine.

Mother never laughed, forgetting I was a child.

After all the combing, the hairspray and gel,

once the tip was paid and I released from hell,

all the way home I’d imagine going wild

and yanking down her bun,

and watch her often auburn-colored hair

fall over her shoulders, just for fun.


DB Love says:

My mother was always platinum blonde…only in her mature years did she let her natural color grow out – reddish blonde

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