Warm Prickly
You pick up the machine and buzzbuzzbuzzzz
a strip of hair off my head. I tell Mom she could either
let me buzz the rest off, or have me walking around
with a short haired stripe running parallel to my
forehead.
That short part doesn't look so bad,
now, does it, she says.
This boggles my mind
because she's only been fighting me on this point for
two years.
I grab the machine and gave myself a nice,
short #4.
It's warm and prickly.
I can hear you in the other bed, clicking your teeth,
so I turn over to show you my new hairstyle (
wheeeeeeeeeeee!), I could have sworn you were
there, but it's Heather, she's snoring, and my
hair hasn't been cut.