Of course it would be today
My hair would fall in perfect waves,
Pre-Raphaelite and sun-kissed
To be taken not to the symphony
Nor a friend’s wedding, a party,
But the weekly grocery raid,
Mask secured over my Waterhouse chin.
Guinevere among the lettuces,
Boadicea buying crackers,
Face obscured, eyes worried.
Appreciate my tresses, grocery shoppers.
They will get no other airing.