there’s lots of talk
of electric cars, of
moon bases and jet packs,
but no one ever mentions
what wigs will look like
in 100 years.
They will have to be different.
A scientist will find
a way to grow human hair
on a mouse’s back. or
an explorer
will discover a mysterious root
in the heart of Brazil, which,
when laid across a bald scalp,
will attach itself and grow
an afro-like moss.
or, in an act of rebellion
against a society
hell-bent on preserving
“morally righteous” haircuts,
teenagers, in 3013, will begin
to wear brightly colored
and oddly shaped wigs. But this
will become the norm. And so,
in increasing efforts of
out-cooling one another,
the wigs will have to grow
more elaborate, looking less and
less like human hair.
Hats will be obsolete.
Barbers
will go out of business.
The bald will rejoice!
It will no longer be strange
to look out the window
of your fourth floor apartment
and witness an ocean
of clashing colors and
Dali-esque hairpieces.
And I,
I will don
a ten-story tall wig.
Bright pink, with sections for children to
play in and a slide that goes
from the top to my feet.
I will be
cooler
than all
of you.
I really thought this was Roger until I got to the end. So it’s very likely I will remember this poem, since it so drastically deviates from your others.
Thanks. I’ve been trying to play with the subtle ground between finding my “voice” and falling into a pattern. This and the Robert Downey Jr. are the results of that and of trying to take myself a little less seriously, at the least for a few hours a day
Point taken. Although I do appreciate your voice. Everyone’s really. I try to guess who wrote each new poem before I get to the bottom. I’m right about 70% of time. And I’d say that’s less pattern and more voice recognition. But a wrench in the works every once in a turquoise moon is an engaging change-up.