You dye your hair to strip off sable stripes
like so many prison breaks.
Stepping from the shower,
leopard spots are drooling down your breasts
and I cannot blame the bottle for spilling.
You ask me, "How's it look?"
So I comment
on how pleasant
the dye has waved your bangs in that
crustacean sort of whirl.
"I dig the ocean style."
Actually,
it’s more a sundae than a hermit crab.
I’d lick ice cream over mermaids any day.
Author notes
The meaning is pretty self-evident, I think (?) so I'll keep this short. Just loved the image of a beautiful woman (well, any of the beautiful women *I* know, [cough]) stepping from the shower after having made a mess with her bottle of hair dye.
Interesting evolution here. The first line was part of another poem that was never really finished (or at least never satisfied me). I recently had to do an assignment for a poetry class in university, and I turned the opening stanza into the beginning of a seven section Imagist poem (think Ezra Pound style). Anyway, it didn't get a great mark, and I pared it down from seven short sections to four even shorter stanzas.
What sayest thou?
-- Y
What say you?
Comments
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The crustacean sort of whirl? Somehow it seems to have a little cheekiness of metaphysical poetry or maybe a Shakespeare sonnet with the accumulated images semi-negated by a 'superior' image. And the leopard spots drooling remind me of X-men...Mystique's smooth metamorphosis, and bottles spilling--
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