The wild confusion of your hair causes you consternation
Like wiry twists of fencing wire your frustration
sticks out; there is no hiding it.
And though you hate the curled morass
that does not conform to your middle class
thinking; there is no abiding it.
So you tie it back tight against your neck
Your earrings bright where they bedeck
Your creamy lobes; preferring to tame it.
Your desire for linear strands frustrated
Nonetheless leaves your wishing unabated
I ask what would help your follicle control
You say to reclaim it.