Tonight's Poet Corner: Sensitive Scalp

Sensitive Scalp
by Belinda Roddie

The slightly stabbing pains -
the short, sharp sensations,
like Floyd's "short, sharp
shocks" along the pristine
glass of a prism - it's enough
to change my dreams at night.
They grow edges, become jagged

in the middle of the stars'
shipwreck voyage. You run
your fingers through my hair,
and the pain intensifies - it gets
plugged into an amp in a small
concert space, and suddenly, it
echoes dissonant chords that not
even my trained ear can discern.

I think, most likely, the one
responsible is my permanent
puberty - because, after all, they
lied when they said acne ended
after adolescence - and now I'm
left with new strategies on how
to rest my head on the pillow
without being zapped by Freud's
finger, coated with static electricity.