My fingers have bones
they are there, underneath the skin
My wrist has a rubber band around it
It's a black elastic thing, and it's worn out
so that part of it is thin, and part of it is thick
I have it wrapped three times around my hair
which is long and greasy today
I had it dyed over six months ago
by a lady who whispered, "You're gonna jam" in my ear as she was looming over me
and she left the color in too long
and my hair and bathtub was purple for days
and I sat under the dryer
my locks getting singed off and when she blew dry it
I didn't have my glasses on
and I couldn't tell how bad it was
until days later
It's growing out now
and I keep it tied up
tiny tweaks of grey are all on my forehead
like tin soldiers
standing guard
about to storm my forehead to remind me of age
I don't care much really
and I rather like my hands
with their slightly weathered look.
Notes: written after reading "A Small Place"