Child Cruelty, or Aint She Sweet?
Glossy brown sausage curls
bobbed around the infant features,
saccharine image of appealing cuteness
masked the nights of torture
suffered to achieve the look.
Strips of torn-up worn out cotton nightie
wound tightly round long strands of hair
were tied with granny knot.
The child was left to toss and turn,
restless, through the night.
More torture, as the strips unwound,
long ringlets arranged to form a frame,
secured with slippery satin bow, lost by lunchtime.
Unruly curls dipped into cabbage and gravy
arousing teacher’s ire each day.
Words were penned in angry note
requesting that child’s hair be cut –
salvation for afflicted child,
and so goodbye to Mother’s Pride.
Mother’s Pride was a leading brand of sliced white bread.
This heartfelt memory was written for the prompt to write a poem about hair at dVerse Poets’ Pub.