Farrah's Hair • Fran Markover

It could float through air and kick ass
It could translate Hollywood-ease
It was poster girl, haloed
It was nippled, giggled, posed
It skinny-dipped as Barbie
It was center-folded, air-brushed
It got split ends, fatigued
It bristled for papparazi
It cried catcall, cancer, chemo
It was shaved, shameless


Mine was teased
It counted bad hair days
It got feathered for date nights
It brushed against my red swimsuit
It befell teen-age wands, dye boxes
It parted amicably, lost its roots
It sported stretch marks
It bought Star Magazine
It dreamt neophyte angels
Waves of Texas wheat


Fran lives in Ithaca, NY, where she works as a psychotherapist. Her poems have been in journals including: Calyx, RATTLE, Runes, Karamu, Sow's Ear Poetry Review, Cider Press Review, Redactions, Harpur's Palate, among others.