Now that I cut
my own hair I
can recognize
other people
on the street
who do it.
That one only
cuts her bangs
herself; she
gets the rest
salon-done.
He must,
he must let
his wife do it;
she ought to
get a machine
from T.V., the
one that sucks
the hair right
off the head.
And that one
lets the mohawk
kid at school
cut and dye hers,
Manic Panic.
(My friend
Cassie once
confessed to me
she was going
to let Thomas
stick safety-
pins in her.
Thomas had
pins even
in his arm,
but Cassie
was white-blond,
see-through blond,
and only
…fifteen?)
That one
had it done
by a friend
in training,
which is
about as good
as doing
it yourself.
We are like
smokers,
or gamblers,
or chronic
masturbators;
we can see it
in each other’s
heads, faces.
