Vertigo

The woman cutting my hair is about to be old.
She tells me that her son got out of bed and
Tumbled through the closet door.
He was dizzy, I'm telling you, she says,
Diagnosed with vertigo.
Vertigo, I'm telling you.
He had to take the dog outside,
Which is why he sat up so fast,
And then he just fell into the closet door and
Smashed it in half.
He was also on the way to the bathroom, but
I didn't tell that to the doctor because
That's not my place.
But vertigo?
That's what he has and I wish people understood it.
Is this too short?
Just let me know.
But my son, oh I do everything for him, I'm telling you.
Well, everything except helping him to the toilet,
If you know what I mean.
Oh, don't mind the blood.
I cut myself all the time.
You're looking white all of the sudden.
Do you need some water?

 © Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Art by Edo 555

Haircut

I was afraid of haircuts.
I was certain that a single drop of blood
Would drip from each strand of hair
And that my scalp would be matted with
A thick coagulation of gore.
It would drip down my forehead
Until the barber wiped my brow.
I learned these thoughts were foolish
Though I still grow anxious
When my hair is long
Because I will be forced
To smile and make small talk
With someone I don't know
And don't want to know.
Go ahead,
Wrap my neck with a harsh white strip of tissue and
Snap a smock too tight.
Attack me with razor, scissors, and comb,
But please do not converse with me.
Let me gaze at my reflection and
Listen to others in the room.
Don't force me to reflect on the weather
Or what I do for a living
Or weekend activities.
Leave me alone to disappear
In a world where
Blood is preferable to human interaction.

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Photo: U.S. National Archives and Records Administration