You took such care of your hair.
Now it comes out in clumps. "Maybe
my new grandson could spare
you joked, Barber Death breathing down your neck.
Always joking we are, keeping something or other in check,
the Joker Family.
Remember how we'd beg you to open the window
of our gray, white-topped Ford Anglia? But no,
a mere hairline window crack of inrushing air
would toss your hair.
How we sweltered on those eternal drives to Everywhere:
Fountainstown, Ringabella, Redbarn, Castlegregory,
"Now look at the scenery while the weather's fine," you'd say.... Read more
TAGS: creative writing