A Poem About Wigs You’ll Want Toupee Your Respects To
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The brown squirrel, coiled & clinging
to the guardrail of my balcony,
is a wig.
I stepped out of the shower to dry my feet
on a damp wig.
You can fold a wig in a certain way
that it becomes a cup from which you can swig
water or juice or wigskey,
which is whiskey distilled
from fermented wigs.
I met Dolly Parton & she was all wig.
Kristen Wiig is a wig.
So was Ludwig van Beethoven.
In Britain, there used to be two political parties
—the Whigs & the Wigs.
There are wigs that are mops
& wigs that seduce cops.
In some countries, it is illegal for wigs
to marry other wigs.
Have you ever slept in a wig? It’s itchy.
The best wigs in life are free,
but the second-best cost
extraordinary amounts of money.
Somewhere in Detroit, you can trade
20 small wigs for one giant wig
& the award for Best Wig Ever goes to
Medusa. I love how she’d rather lose her head
than part with it
& how, even without a heart,
the head maintains its awful power.