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The following is an entire chapter of a book called "What My Mother Doesn't Know," by Sonya Sones. It's a great little novel in verse that I read last week. This chapter reminds me of "The Sweater," by Maryn Cadell. And a little bit like Shel Silverstein, too....

Three Hours Before the Dance

Even though I wash it,
twice,
with shampoo that’s especially formulated
with essential fatty acids
derived from natural botanic oils
to replace valuable lipids
and restore the emollients necessary
for the hair to remain
soft, pliable and supple
with a healthy, radiant shine,

And even though I remove
the excess moisture from my hair
and evenly distribute a small amount
of instant reconstructor and detangler
to enhance strength and manageability,

And even though
I work it through to the ends,
leaving it on for three minutes
and then rinse thoroughly before adding
the revolutionary polymerized
electrolytic moisture potion
that actually repairs split ends
while providing flexible styling control
by infusing the roots with twenty-three
essential pro-vitamins,

And even though I massage it in
to make my hair feel instantly softer
and fuller with added shaping power,
and then rinse it again
with lukewarm water,
towel dry and apply the desired amount
of styling gel to the palm of my hand,
then comb it through
and blow it dry

It still looks pathetic