What can I do with my curly hair during Lockdown?
Medusa asked her hairstylist
Observing, of course, social distancing
Although her nest of snakes, oily black
Writhed to be free
To sun in the heat of the day.
Powerful and poisonous, they 
Stood on their tails ready to strike.
With minds of their own
They twirled as though
Lovers testing out a new bed
Twisted limbs tying private love knots
Unaware of a small boy watching
Terrified in the shadows.
The hairstylist stepped back from the snakes
With their pointed mouths
And forked tongues that hissed demands.
The pandemic had dried up the moisturisers
Stilled the salon of the chatter of women
Preening their plumage
Reflecting on themselves.
He looked at Medusa and her snakes
How hideous he thought them
Like thick black coarseness sprouting
Unheeded from a woman’s bathing suit.
Now, he told her,
There are more important issues.
Shutting his salon door
He sat alone before the mirror.
In his haggard face, the empty shelves behind him
He saw his own demise.