GOING GREY.

‘I’m going to let my grey grow through’

She said, to no one in particular.

And so she did, and the first army of silver shoots arrived, repulsive in their shine.

Creepy- crawling on the rich Reddy- Brown she had slathered on the month before.

Old colleagues in the street, stopped to chat, with words, their

Eyes just above her head

On the array of white and yellowy streaks.

Her platinum tiara.

She pretended to be unaware of the sly glints

And the smiles disguised, deformed by yawns,

But chuckled to herself when she walked off.

Trolley in front, half full.

Soon the grey became so unruly and so stray

The time came to chop the fading- dyed, dead- ends off.

February, and large chunks fell, victim to the kitchen scissors, lifelessly tumble to the sink.

After, she ran her hands through her thick mane and let the 'RINGRING' go to answerphone.

Outside, the garden pond was becoming increasingly interesting.

She admired, in particular, the beautiful green coat of the frog, and his ready, wet eyes.

Purposefully, she stood in the wretched cold without a hat or scarf, feeling the wind

Like flames, soar up her grey, hairy nostrils.