I sat down in the chair.
He gave a haughty stare.
He said, I know just what to do.”
I asked, “Can I really trust you?”
He said, “Sure. I’ll fix everything.
Don’t you worry; I’m the hair king!”
I listened to snip, snip, snip,
Waiting for the perfect clip.
Now, my hair hangs uneven
Thanks to a cut by Stephen.*
This poem is loosely based on a Red Writing Hood prompt. The prompt was to write something about hair and I think the idea was to write a story, a character sketch or anything other than what I ended up writing. But sometimes you just have to go where your muse takes you!
Since no story developed, I began a desperate search for a picture to put something up at my site. I found this one and “VOILÀ!” Somehow, the picture, the prompt and my muse decided to play together. It’s not exactly what Cheryl intended with her Write on Edge prompt, but I had lots of fun writing this. In addition, I’ve been in that chair many times:~)
What about you?
- Have you been in a chair like Stephen’s?
- Care to share any of your stories about hair cuts?
* This poem is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. So, for any of the hair stylists out there named Stephen, this means I’m not talking about you:~)
Note to my readers:
I will be around the blogosphere off and on in December. My daughter and her husband will soon be visiting from England. As I don’t get to see them very often, I plan on spending as much time as possible with them. I know you will understand:~)