The foamy lather streaked through my hair,
two lines above the forehead and one
from each temple, is lemon yellow,
which according to the label turns gold
in sixty minutes.
_________________ I wait the prescribed time.
If someone should come to my door hawking
strawberries or asking directions
they would think me alien or a circus jester.
But now I've got my stripes. When I wash
the stuff away, apply rose-scented rinse,
fluff dry with the blue Royal Egyptian
I feel like a Pharaoh who, in glimmering
landing patterns, bears a bit of the sun,
offset by a crop of darker days
and just a shade of gray.
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