Knots in my hair, strands of my soul
Wrenched out with each successive tug;
Not even the biotin could preserve this bond;
At first, a delicate swan, now a matted mess of a sheepdog,
A Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde if you would;
Night after night, a torturous tussle,
Commencing beneath the shower head,
The old shotgun of steaming bullets,
Transpiring next into a full-fledged mane massacre;
My accomplices in crime, shampoo and detangler,
Slathered on not once, not twice, but thrice, a charm, or so I surmised;
Ergo, you could boast I'm quite the lathering pro,
All the more, a master in the art of evidentiary extermination,
In which any trace of entanglement is rigorously flushed down the drain
With the aid of my shower head and a sticky toe, of course;
Howbeit, the deed, still inconclusive,
To mark completion, the final task: the impassioned disentanglement;
My weapon of choosing, a fine-toothed comb;
I commence with short, steady strokes,
Beginning at the bottom, gently working my way up through the dense jungle of tangles;
Some, merely speed bumps, the remainder, multi-knot pileups,
Waiting to be extricated by the probing prongs;
Twenty minutes in, frustration setting in,
Those formerly gentle, methodical strokes growing truculent and chaotic;
Post a series of gutteral groans, I thunder,
That's it! I've had enough of your purported "tough love!"
For you and I are but an aching arm and a clogged shower drain;
Perhaps, it's time to tackle the problem at the source,
Snip the veil, cleave the cord, shave it off altogether;
Farewell, fine, fair hair. You and I, we had a good run;
Until then, good riddance!
For a glabrous head by far outclasses the bane of a hairy one.

© JLaine