Hair

 "I swear to God -" I spit

Brush in hand

Snarled with hair

Teeth gritted

I march to the kitchen
Snatch scissors
Slam the bathroom door
And proceed to cut away the offending follicles
Chunks, locks
Slick with water
Hit the floor
And oh how sweetly the brush fairly sings through my hair now
Ah! If only all problems could be solved somehow
With such precision
Such ease
And a sharp pair of scissors