Sure, you might be all crystal goblets, all ruby sunsets
and soft violins. You might be high rise and Bugatti
and caviar. But baby, you haven’t made it
anywhere that the lice can’t find you. It’s not
about your hygiene, honey, it’s about your hair follicles.
Can’t drown ’em in your infinity pool. Can’t
smother them with your fine spa mud.
They’ve evolved to find you, to suck your blood,
to romp on your scalp, to lay their nearly invisible eggs
and glue them to strands of your hair.
You’d like to pretend they aren’t there. But
they are. It’s the age-old story of lice and men.
Says right here in Scientific American
that “Sucking lice have been sucking primate blood
for at least 25 million years.” Doesn’t seem too likely
they’ll stop their thirsting habits for you.
No pair of lice lost on account of your bling.
They won’t be dissuaded by your Gucci belt nor deterred
by your Chanel. They’re the great human equalizers,
these lousy little beasts. They care nothing for race.
For gender. For creed. They see us all the same—
as fine warm hosts. Perhaps they’ve something
to teach us right now, now when we need
the lesson most. Darling, are you itching yet?
Very witty and satirical. Enjoyed the running on technique between stanzas.
So timely and so apt.