Over, under, over, under

Such a simple task, so it sounds

So what is the issue, you may wonder?

I can’t seem to achieve it on these grounds.


Sit on the floor she would say 

Don’t forget the brush and hair-ties,

 or we’ll have quite the delay 

Two French braids, no surprise!


August came around, the car was being packed 

Today was the day, across New York I’d go

“one more time?” I asked with a towel lying on my back.

Over, under, over, under, she couldn’t say no. 


I sit in my dorm room, on the floor 

Almost ready for class? My roommate shares

I’m awaiting my grandmother to walk through the door 

“I just have to finish my hair.” 


She never did walk into that room 

I put my hands in my hair, split it in two 

I was on my own, so it’s safe to assume 

I suppose, it sort of looked like a queue 


This is the day I knew I grew up

Though it probably happened before that 

I finished putting on my make-up

I think I’ll wear a hat 

This poem is about: 
My family


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