Hair Salon Ladies by Skeleton Coast

Skeleton Coast | January 5th, 2010 | poetry | No Comments

It’s that time of the month again, that dreaded time of the month.
It happens every month, however, sometimes I wilfully neglect to
visit the crypt of all-evil.
But then, next time, I have to stay twice as long,
all peace of mind long gone.

I get into my car, taking this far too serious,
expecting immense irritation by people far to curious.
I take a breath and turn the keys,
begging:” Please, let the suffering be short”.
I start to drive,
to that place where the
gossip ladies thrive.

Today is that dreaded time of the month
when I have to have my hair done.
And no, I don’t think of it as fun.

Arriving at the abyss of endless darkness
I meet Molly and Sandy and Brenda and Randy.
Margaret walks up to me:
“Anything to drink?”
This is actually a trick question
when dealing with this wicked legion.
So I need to think
about what I want to drink.
What I want to say is:
“Thank you my dear,
I’ll have some beer”.
But instead I’ll settle for:
“A cup of tea will be just fine”.
I mean, how can I decline,
I’m already losing my fucking mind!

Now it begins,
prying eyes burning my skin.
So, I sit and drink the stupid tea,
thinking maybe I should go pee
or simply jump up and flee.
Than, suddenly, another question falls.
I look up, shit, it’s directed at me!
“So, how are you today?”
asks Mary-Jane.
Everyone leans forward in anticipation.
My heart rate experiences a sudden inflation!

You must understand,
it’s not social skills that I lack,
but rather the double-edged knife
in my, figuratively speaking, back
I fear,
as the ladies smile with
a vexatious sneer.

If I say that I’m just fine, thank you,
the rational conclusion will be
that my statement is not true,
and next week
my financial position will be very bleak.
I can barely afford my rent
and must turn over every cent.

All of which, untrue,
but gossip is so deliciously cruel.

If I say, I’m healthy, happy and fit,
they will hear:
My relationship has gone to shit,
now I spend my time in the gym,
and drinking a hell of a lot of gin.

All of which, untrue,
but gossip is so deliciously cruel.

I stand up and say:
“I cannot recall at this moment”.
Their gazes fall,
I have only delayed the torment.
I’m called to have my hair washed,
all hope of a safe escape crushed.

Today it’s Molly’s turn to start.
As usual, first to take part.
“Have you seen Christine lately,
she’s so fat.
It’s because she spends all her time
with that brainless cat.
And Marlene,
after all those years,
she simply must be close to tears.
Still no man to care for her,

I bet they forgot all about her”.
And so it goes, on and on and on.
They gossip about Lizzy’s ugly lawn
and how Andrew cheated on Faune
on that same ugly lawn.

On and on and on.
For hours and hours and hours.
Endless torment and torture.

Whilst having my hair cut
I have to listen how
Anne run out of luck.
“The poor cow”,
says Francisco
“I’ll never go to that casino”.

“Do you want I blow-dry?”
“NO” I cry.
I jump out of the chair,
quickly pay
and flee like some small prey.

Now, they’re talking ’bout me, I bet.
Fuck it, I need a cigarette!
And just as I thought all worries was gone,
I realize, next week I need to have my nails done!

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