Delousing

[TheFifthElement]

De-lousing

It’s our Sunday night routine.
Hair slicked and scented
like an old-fashioned sweet shop,
twirling in liquorice and aniseed curls.
She sits patiently, pressed
against me; legs dangling,
feet kicking against the settee.
I start with the comb,
part her hair carefully
taking the time not to
snag or to pull. While I sort
through the strands
she is aimlessly chattering
her four year old thoughts
about life and TV,
the story we’ll read,
and the songs we will sing,
and all the time I am picking –
there’s one, and there’s one,
their little black bodies
crushed under my thumbs.
She wriggles away as soon
as I’m done.
As she guzzles her milk
from the pink cup - her favourite
I dispose of the bodies;
silently hoping that I
didn’t find them all.

[Sweets America]

God, I love this very much. You write some great poetry, in my opinion. It really appeals to me. The ending struck me! I didn't expect it, it is beautiful.

[ampoule]

I agree with you Sweets. She does write wonderful poetry. I love that ending. I understand it perfectly. I love endings like that, the ones that sock it to me.

[TheFifthElement]

Yes, it's nice to capture these moments - there are so many when children are young and they disappear from memory so quickly. This is a good one for me, though sometimes when we're sat there I'm reminded of watching nature programmes of chimps picking fleas off each other! Perhaps we haven't evolved so far after all?

I have to confess I cheated a little, she isn't four until next week.

Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad you liked this - it is one I'm happy to share :)

[Bakiryu]

I love your poem, it's so sweet. When I think about delousing I rather tend to think of 9-year-old me and my mum yanking at my hair while I complained :p but your imagery is so realistic and nice too.

[TheFifthElement]

Thanks Baki - it's nice to see you back. I hope my daughter remembers these times, and not the times I'm less gentle! If not there's always the poem to remind her ;)

[firefangled]

De-lousing

It’s our Sunday night routine.
Hair slicked and scented
like an old-fashioned sweet shop,
twirling in liquorice and aniseed curls.
She sits patiently, pressed
against me; legs dangling,
feet kicking against the settee.
I start with the comb,
part her hair carefully
taking the time not to
snag or to pull. While I sort
through the strands
she is aimlessly chattering
her four year old thoughts
about life and TV,
the story we’ll read,
and the songs we will sing,
and all the time I am picking –
there’s one, and there’s one,
their little black bodies
crushed under my thumbs.
She wriggles away as soon
as I’m done.
As she guzzles her milk
from the pink cup - her favourite
I dispose of the bodies;
silently hoping that I
didn’t find them all.



A wonderful poem, Fifth. Your experience seems more favorable than mine. My daughter went through this in middle school and at 11 years old I was hard pressed to make it fun or quality time (so to speak).

A sweet poem nonetheless. Bravo for making it that way.