A Poem About Wigs You’ll Want Toupee Your Respects To
Electric Lit relies on contributions from our readers to help make literature more exciting, relevant, and inclusive. Please support our work by becoming a member today, or making a one-time donation here.
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.