Part I. Big Hair and Pony Tail
Big Hair and Pony Tail
are driving in their car
down Lucas Avenue—this morning
in front of me.
They stop at the light
and wait for the green.
It comes—quickly.
Big Hair is talking—I presume.
Pony Tail turns to look and
Big Hair gestures with a hand that swirls
and flips the flop from a rigid wrist
and holds a Dunkin' Donut coffee cup
in the other.
The cup dances—up and down
back and forth—splish splosh.
Pony Tail wags her head
and looks away out the side window.
Big Hair's hair rustles
and the green light lingers.
I rarely do it
but I beep the horn.
Just a little tap. But nothing.
And so I tap it again—and again.
Pony Tail turns to Big Hair
and Big Hair shakes
and drinks from the cup.
I beep again—and again
AND AGAIN!—Until I lay
my entire arm and shoulder
into the last blast. Finally,
Big Hair and Pony Tail
drive through the light.
It turns yellow. We ooze
through to the stop sign
one block away.
Big Hair and Pony Tail
stop. Surely,
they will get it right this time.
They sit.—I wait.
No one is coming.
There are no cars
to the right—to the left
oncoming. Big Hair talks
and Pony Tail looks—dead ahead.
The Dunkin' Donut coffee cup
Reappears—tipsy up.
And the right hand repeats
its little dance—stuck
in the groove of the point
being made.
I tap my horn.
Just a little beep.
It sounds kind of cute
I think
And then again
and again, AND AGAIN!
Until I lean into the blast
hard and long enough
that I can feel the arch in my back
lift my butt off the seat.
Big Hair lowers the cup
out of sight and drives
through the empty streets
toward the next light
at Washington Avenue.
Part II. Buzz Cut and Curly Locks
I turn left and wind my way
along Grand-ma Brown's Lane
past the stadium
and onto Washington Avenue.
Big Hair and Pony Tail
are no where in sight.
I follow a small sedan
into the left turn-only lane.
In front of me
Buzz Cut and Curly Locks
stop for the red light. I stop too.
The green left-turn arrow
blinks on for us.
'Ohhh, I am in luck today,' I think.
'I am on my way.'
But Buzz Cut and Curly Locks
do not move.
Buzz Cut rocks to the beat.
He hammers on his steering wheel
with bongo drum palms
bam—ditti—de bam—bam—bam,
while Curly Locks sways,
taking a softer, more romantic
approach to the tune.
I wait and hold my breath.
This cannot be.
This light does not last forever
and then it will be forever
that we will be stuck here for.
Buzz Cut reaches for the radio dial
and Curly Locks flicks
a cigarette ash out the window.
I rarely do it. But
I beep my horn.
Just a little beep.
But nothing. And so I tap it
again, and again,
AND AGAIN,
until I press the heel of my hand
into the center of the car's steering wheel
for as long as I can stand it
in front of all the other cars—watching.
Slowly, ever so slowly,
Buzz Cut moves through the light
and navigates a wide, smooth
left hand turn onto Hurley Avenue.
I make it to my appointment
with five minutes to spare.
During my check up,
my doctor remarks
that my blood pressure
seems to be running
a little on the high side
today.
- Nancy Beard...........