Hanging by a hair

The scuttlebutt on making the cut.

Hanging by a hair

My mane is mindless, savage strew.

In short, these locks ain’t got no clue.

Each tress does trickle, ne’er to tame,

With no smooth shine or form to frame.

My every fiber takes a stand;

Each filament flies out of hand.

 I’d choose to charm these waves a-wild,

But they resist like wayward child.

I’m overdue (You may have guessed.)

To put the expert to the test.

So sign me up. I’ll bring my mess

For wonder-working S-O-S.

c2016 by Linda Ann Nickerson

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

Mad Kane Humor: “frame”

Meme Express: “sign me up”

One-Liner Wednesday: “Ain’t got no clue”

Simply Snickers: “charm,” “choose,” and “child”

Six Word Sunday: Describe your life in six words. (See the subtitle.)

Stream of Consciousness Saturday / #SoCS : Word/s ending in “-est”

Theme Thursday: “smooth”

Thursday Challenge: “hair”

Image/s:

Vintage/public domain image.

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