I think his name was Carlo, or was it maybe Marlow, <br />He was as handsome, as he could possibly be, <br />I offered him my 'head' and mentally my 'bed', <br />I imagined perhaps he'd really fancy me. <br /> <br />His fingers, long and slender, caressed my hair with tender <br />Manipulation, as he curled each strand, <br />His work was so artistic, my nerves were going ballistic, <br />My thoughts of 'frenzied passion' were being fanned. <br /> <br />His body was too near, and I hoped he couldn't hear <br />These thoughts that now, were whirling through my mind, <br />His hands were making quivers go down my spine, and shivers <br />Were finding places of another kind. <br /> <br />He asked if I was elated, by the 'hair do' he had created, <br />And hoped I would come back again real soon, <br />I stood up in a trance, and without a second glance, <br />Turned from him, feeling like a proper 'goon'. <br /> <br />He must have been only twenty, and me with years a plenty, <br />How could I let my hormones overflow, <br />I'd come in for a 'hair do' and not a big 'affair do', <br />I'll have to quickly leave this status quo. <br /> <br />© Ernestine Northover<br /><br />Ernestine Northover<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hairdresser/
