by Mary Winters
for M. W. S. w. a. m. l.
T-o-o-o much vino-slaphappy clowns in the john.
Me on the floor losing my purse in the stall
“hey my wallet’s down the tubes!” –
“down the tubes” the saying Melanie and I quote con-
stantly: “whut if you speak & you do not know it??”
“Gawd I lost my wig” she guffaws &
you’re thinking of a red yardn clown rug.
Really the wig they sewed of her own hair
(an entire cottage industry)
when the chemo got started.
“A kinda bad moment” Mel allowed when that
waist-long blond ponytail wuz cut—whut of hubbie
who swore he’d divorce her
if she sheared off those locks? Some consolation?
“Bald as a billiard ball” my dumb ass trite thought.
But I rub that head & sooth it “gosh yes
Hair’s growing back & so THICK!!”
“Yeah I want it spiky and blond like Sharon Stone”
but I see only gray. Is it
over so soon my dear darling friend?