MY HAIR
I was sitting on the bus and felt a ping
at my head
and realized a little girl was trying to steal my hair.
I turned around and saw these
fingers
hanging in the air.
I knew she wouldn't confess
but I didn't think
she would try
again.
She did.
So I turned around to offer the criminal a piece
of myself.
She just stared,
her fingers
hanging in the air.
"MY HAIR" and other poems by Penya Sandor appear at 15 Credibility Street
Penya Sandor