Grandma told me neva to
touch a gals hair
I neva asked her why
coz tradition restricted
any such inquisitive dare.
Too curious now became my soul
quickly went out investigating…
this mystery I had to unfold
the mystery behind caressing
the queenly combed afro
or intricately plaited corn row….
On one of the fine week days
as we were walking home from school
I strode along one of ma cool female friends
carefully crafting a cheeky plan
calculating how to get the palm of ma hand
gliding along the on her head.
“you’ve got some grass on yo’ hair” I said
the first part of my plan had begun
slowly she attempted to clean the imaginary ‘mess’
“has it all come off?” she innocently asked
“just a little more,
no worries I’ll get it out” I sneakily replied.
So this cunning self begun her hair to stroke
Once then twice then our eyes took hold…lost control
It happened so fast…..system overload
the grass…the touch…the ‘divine dance’
before I knew it I had
overstepped the forbidden zone.
Truth be told the rest is difficult to disclose
All I Can say is I don’t touch gals hair no more….