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ODE TO A COMB by Belva Green Your image matches my fashion gown Lifts my spirit; a potion for love. My hand caresses your plastic crown, Lingers on faux jewels, and moves on. My mirror reflects a metal's gleam and the glint of foiled, gem-like glass. I raise your ornamental splendor Enjoying enchantment, lest it pass. Soft in my hand to delight my eyes; Fingers, anticipate perfection. What is this? They stiffen in surprise. Unsightly, disgusting, broken prongs! Imperfection, I cannot abide! I stab your shame in my curls to hide! Sighing silently...regain my pose...No One knows...

NO TITLE by David Hadda Do let my hair Grow again, oh do! I can't afford to have my brain Bared to the rain Or chilling cold, let alone the sun's sometimes Relentless heat : I need my thinking-gear Well wrapped To steer and guide me through the scenery Of earth's astounding pleasure-ground Before I am into Your cuddling arms -if not Your tender-loving-heart finally Homeward bound !

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