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Lindsay Hopkins, 1998

Today I am having a bad hair day.
It leaned to the left but only halfway.
I wish someone would just take it away
But then I'll be bald on my wedding day.

Oh, my goodness! What will I do?
Tomorrow I'm going to a barbecue.
I will walk in and say, "How-do-you-do?
Then they'll laugh and I'll cry, "Boo-Hoo!

There is a hair salon by a saloon.
They'll fix my hair before afternoon.
The way my hair is scattered and strewn.
You'd think I've been in a wild typhoon.

I'll be so blue!
Then whatever will I do?
I'll have to be at the church at two,
That's when the wedding march is due.

I just don't know why I sit here and worry.
I'll comb it and brush it all up in a hurry.
Then I won't have to be in such fury
I won't have to ship in a wig from Missouri.

I can go to my wedding in style
And I'll walk proudly down the aisle.
I'll never wear another toupee
Because I have a back-up for the next:


Scott Poole

I have never been to New York
but I imagine all New York women
having long hair, long hair
they are always combing,
thick hair that gets loose
and crawls down the skyscrapers
in the static of the afternoon,
past the anxious,
the arguments,
flying with reflections of angels
sifting through rising souls
to finally fall over the faces of bums
napping between
hot dog carts
and heating grates,
drifting down through
dreams onto their
stringless violins.

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