ODE TO A COMB
Your image matches my fashion gown
by Belva Green
Lifts my spirit; a potion for love.
My hand caresses your plastic crown,
Lingers on faux jewels, and moves on.
My mirror reflects a metal's gleam
and the glint of foiled, gem-like glass.
I raise your ornamental splendor
Enjoying enchantment, lest it pass.
Soft in my hand to delight my eyes;
Fingers, anticipate perfection.
What is this? They stiffen in surprise.
Unsightly, disgusting, broken prongs!
Imperfection, I cannot abide!
I stab your shame in my curls to hide!
Sighing silently...regain my pose...No One knows...