in this economy

I get my hair  

cut by a pregnant Evangelist 

three years younger,  

the kind of stylist  

who believes  

every haircut deserves 

an unveiling,  

turning you from the mirror 

to surprise you with  

what you asked for.  

I mistake anyone  

touching my scalp  

for someone who lacks 

connection, too.  

We chat  

on hard rain,  

data centers poisoning 

Louisiana, whether babies 

can hear through skin.  

Water gets in  

my ear.  

Her nails look  

like they cost  

something,  

gems scraping my canal. 

The trickling stops.  

My voice comes out  

muffled when I tell her  

it must be hard  

with a job like hers.  

Vanity must fail 

in the face  

of inflation.  

She tells me 

my hair is dead,  

all of it,  

and cuts it off. 

I pay.

Rose Marie Torres is a Mexican-American multi-genre writer from South Texas. Her work has appeared in The Good Life Review, Bicoastal Review, Lunch Ticket, Atlanta Review, and more. And in her free time, Rose is a karaoke enthusiast, donut aficionado, and devoted friend.