At the sight of her hair falling,
A young girl cries out sharply.
A woman is moving.
A woman's new hairdo is not moving.
So which one do you prefer:
The beauty of anticipation,
The beauty of suggestion,
(This will look just real fine on you . . . )
Or the reality of reflection
When you hair is scattered across the floor?
O thin ladies at Darlene's Salon,
Why are you all platinum blondes?
I know your local accents
Your slangy rhythms and double negatives: I don't know nothing!
You say. You who are involved
In all the knowing of this town.
(after "13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" by Wallace Stevens)