When Grandma Butchered My Bangs

Half day at school; Mom’s still at work.
Grandma picks me up, which is a nice little perk.

We sing and we dance ‘till Grandma’s fatigued;
then she walks to my art corner looking intrigued.

“Will you paint me a picture?” she asks through a wheeze.
“Maybe a landscape – fields, flowers, and trees?”

Excited, I get out my paint brush and tray,
to create a masterpiece that will rival Monet.

I look down at the paper to assess the space,
as Grandma leans over to brush the hair off my face.

“Should I trim your bangs to clear your view?”
“No thanks,” I say, and dip my brush in the blue.

“Look,” says Grandma. “It’s down to your nose.
“Let me cut it; I’ll be just as good as the pros.”

“Where Mom takes me I get a balloon for free.”
“Only one?” asks Grandma. “I’ll give you three.”

Persistence and bribery ease my fears.
Looking back, I should’ve given kitty the shears.

Grandma makes the first cut; hair falls from my eyes.
“Just a little more to make it level,” she lies.

She snips some more hair and brushes my clothes.
She takes a step back and scrunches her nose.

“The more you move, the longer this takes.”
But I’m sitting still, it’s Grandma who shakes.

More and more passes; in all there were eight.
Eight whole tries to make my bangs straight.

Finally finished; no more hair in my eyes.
“Your forehead’s a five now,” Grandma says with a sigh.

I get back to my painting, rubbing my head.
While Grandma blows up balloons and ties them with thread.

My smile falls like the balloons to the floor,
they don’t magically float like the ones from the store!

My painting is finished, balloons collect hair on the ground.
I hear Mommy’s car pull up – an unmistakable sound.

I rush to the door to show what I painted.
It must be top notch, for Mom nearly fainted.