My Daughter's Hair is Always in her Face

The strands of hair around her face are not
kept but collective forward-
falling agents tasked to rebel against whatever pig
or pony that nasty coloured
straight-jacket conformist weapon is just let me merge with the long 
dark lashes they all comment upon
"beautiful beautiful beautiful" while this mass of whisp tangled
neither brown nor yellow endures comb
brush cloth endless fingers "get out
of the eyes away
from the face and curl or fluff or stay" 


and all the while the lashes admired but untouched pretend
to side with the humans but blush
with every interference