Self- image battered.
Join the guild.
Step into the Hairdresser;
Maelstrom of feminine magic.
Snippets of conversation
Shouted above the mélee ,
The discordant mystical chant
Of conjurer hairdryers,
Correct the wrongs of the world.
Strangers sharing secrets, hopes and dreams.
And the hairdresser
Washes and cuts
And curls
And turns up the noise of the dryers.
She works her magic.
And as each nears the end
Of this mystical conveyor belt;
Surrounded by smiles
And nods of approval,
Self-image panel-beaten,
Remodelled;
Step gallantly back
Into your day,
Smile reinforced;
Façade fortified,
Ready.
READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD