give me your head with hair

i use to worry about my

hair,

standing in front

of the mirror

for hours.

i had the blow dryer

going,

the comb

and brush,

the scissors,

the gel for those brief

and unfortunate

punk days.

i sat in salon chairs and had

young girls

carefully coif my hair.

had men

with large hands

in seedy barber shops,

who smelled of garlic

powdering

my neck after a five

minute

cut with the clippers.

i've had it layered 

and styled,

long and short,

Beatlesque

and a marine crew

cut.

parted on the side,

the left

or right

and once down the middle.

hair used

to be my life.