Thousands of salt and pepper strands, heavy on the salt
Manipulated into the shape of pink foam curlers
Snapped into place by knowing hands
The night before the festivities are
Framing the lines beaten into
The soft, sagging
Surface by
Time.
This hushed
Enemy taunts
Quiet reminders that
Days are fleeting luxuries
As Polydent pearls sit gleaming
Behind curling lips, laughing at us,
The eventual survivors, because nothing lasts forever.