An eighty-buck hairdo,
an eighty-year face

The two now in conflict,
all balance erased

With age as a symbol
to search and destroy

All vanity coddled,
to plunder and toy

Bejeweled and bedangled,
she limps from the chair

Her stylist left smirking,
paid well—more than fair

These ‘blue hairs’ a staple,
her ticket to fame

The stench of the hair dye,
the price of the game

The credit card processed,
cash tip in her hand

She escorts Miss Edna
to her handicapped van

In the mirror she wonders,
as she looks at herself

“Am I just a pariah
—stealing dignity’s wealth”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2021)