Much hairdo about nothing

by T.P. Wilkinson / April 22nd, 2018

when we think
we are alone
we take our time
the wind blows
through the windows chime
peek the birds
from their nests
sight restrained
repetitiveness
a friend visits
the scene cerebral
for plaits waiting
combed serene
sensing
with patient eyes
wrapped hairs
delicate
in tender smiles

T.P. Wilkinson, Dr. rer. pol. writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is author of Unbecoming American: A War Memoir and also Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..

This article was posted on Sunday, April 22nd, 2018 at 9:45am and is filed under Poetry.