Ode to the curious co-worker

Beloved co-worker,
 
I know you never could conceive
You’d stumble upon a fly-ass weave
Right in front of your astonished grays
Are eighteen inches of Remy waves
 
You boldly show me into your mind
By asking me questions that show no sign
Of social awareness or beauty IQ
That would explain your ‘80s ‘do
 
Is that your real hair
Now girl you know
I didn’t have this length twenty hours ago
 
Did it hurt to install
After the opiates and booze
All I could feel was the slightest bruise
 
I wish we could do that
Deep breaths because why even bother to say
I see her kind every other day
Cute girls, like me, who love to embrace
Faux clips of hair down to the waist
 
Is it very expensive
Now you’re moving too close
To the thing we like to protect the most
 
Is that your hand making a move toward me
I know you’re not that damn crazy
But before I can duck, dodge or sway
Your hand’s on my head, feeling its way
 
My temper flares, my anger rise
Has no one ever told you, is this a surprise
My hair’s part of me, my body, my being
You don’t touch my breasts, it would be obscene
So don’t touch my hair, as a matter of fact
Curiosity can do more than kill a cat
 
I’ll tolerate the questions
Do I have a choice
I’ll answer them all with a neutral voice
 
But my hair is off limits, admire from afar
It’s mine, I can prove it. The receipt’s in my car.

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