Gone Blonde Again, She Is

naturally upset at such far-fetched chemistry,
the webbed reaction she feels
has somehow toned her,
and angry at herself
and angry at the ridiculous churning in his eyes,
the way he said,
"Did you, madam, do something to your hair?"

That weekend at the war
was when after they spread their blanket on the spectators' hillside
she had know he glared at citizen men
and citizen women who turned away from
polite and measured barrage
to accuse her hair
of flaggish pretensions.
"It's just a little too much sun," she heard him mutter to their acquaintances.
"She was out in the open sun too long. That's all."
And "sheesh."
He said "sheesh" a lot.

But before that and nightly,
he had drawn her hair pins
one by one
and he had carefully placed them
one by one
in a kind of fan shape,
a spray of silver needles
beneath her bedroom mirror.