Sunday, July 01, 2007

Royal Crown Promenade

i could not afford a haircut. So i bought a tub of
hair promenade for 4 dollars and 38 cents.

Mother had always warned
that i could go bald
at any time.

She hid my hat
because she said my father wore a hat,
and look at him now.

So i did,
i took a long look at him.
it was a cruel sight, a future that may never happen, a threat, a sign warning that the bridge is out, a sight for which the bell tolls, rings, and clangs out the greatest hits.

Father is bald
as a Franciscan monk.

Father is bald like a Guatemalan bald eagle the Latino cousin to the symbol of patriarchy, war, and the most Viagra prescriptions per capita

Mother says “Don't you dare put
promenade in your hair!”

fuck it i say.

My hair is raven black and does the most amazing tricks
with the help of promenade.

The kind that Elvis himself gets all shook up about. The kind that fucken Elvis himself reaches down from the heavens and blesses my hair!

I do this for you ladies with the red red lipstick, tattoos and bangs, skirts and high heels. I do this for you king of rock and roll and i do this for you father.

for if you still could
i know you would!!

I dip my fingers in the Royal Crown Promenade, anyways.

royal crown, Three flowers, , Murphy’s... i have gone through them all, like a
of fine wines.
Drinkin wine Spo-Dee-O- Dee.

I mean, i look at my dad, and figure someone married his dumb ass, and stayed
and if he can do it bald or not, anyone can.

ayh 07

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