Rollers

She took her time to tame her mass of hair.
First, she’d make a strong mug of tea and sit
at the high teak table with a plastic bag.
Her cigarette smoke would claim the air.

A long wide comb in a cup of water,
she’d pull it out, tapping off loose droplets,
before running the comb through her thin hair.
The comb would straighten out the grey black frizz.

Still holding the sections, comb back in the cup,
she’d take a pink roller out of the bag
and start at the tips of her hair, rolling
upwards and under.

Only a pink and black sausage roll
was left in her hand ready for a grip,
like a white overcoat, encased the roll.
She’d take a sip of tea and a quick drag.

Then she’d take the comb again, wet and pull
on her tangled locks until it was straight.
Rollers would be rolled up and under
and covers in place, again and again,

until her whole head was a mass of rows.
Pink and white rolls, like gums and teeth,
gradually drying, gradually curling
straight. After Sunday dinner and dishes done,

the rollers would be pulled out swiftly.
These relaxed curls were then teased out like notes
from a saxophone, until they danced around
her head like a lion’s mane tamed.

Sheree Mack (see her hairstory I've got 'good' hair posted 22nd October)