The sun is a street entertainer
trailing dusty scarves
The hair stylist is a picador
fighting my hair,
igniting the tips with her scissors' sparks
but I am a wild trogg
and the hair keeps coming
She is striking out like a wolf spider
She notices the blonde that others miss
and darts at it
and I am a very quiet patient
I am busy in the flames of her clicking dance
like a great project taking shape,
I admire girls in shorts
through the salon window
