Loud voices bounce off white walls,
as strip fluorescent tubes blaze,
bright as spring's sun.
Over the roar of the hairdryer,
between the angles of our bobs,
chatting about hairstyles,
holidays and husbands.
Warm water massages my head.
Relaxing suds weave dreams like silk.
Apple blossoms drift from shelves
of scented shampoos.
“ I nearly clobbered him when he said I looked like a granny in my glasses”
Five 6ft mirrors surround the room,
but facing the mirror,
my reflection, uneasy, blurs, retreating,
avoiding the truths parked
in the shadows beneath my eyes.
When did this woman become me?
I try to push all negative thoughts aside.
“John’s been caught smooching one of his shop girls.”
“Oh poor Michelle, she’s such a nice woman, that one.”
Potted palms and beach wood complete the scene,
echoing low bass drums escape,
below incense sticks, a twinge of bleach.
I flick through Hair and Beauty.
The scrape of foil, a silver tune.
Cradled by swivel chairs,
while short crops and sweeping fringes dance,
our words snip weekend plans.
Roots nurtured,
blow drying trails of laughter,
finally the gentle mist of spray.
Clippings litter the floor
curled like kittens.
In this luminous sanctuary of style,
I discover layers, not just of hair,
but of lives tangled.
Stepping out I face the mirror,
still worried,
but with a smile, the first in days, I leave.