The Heroic Couplet Version; or Belinda Uncut

in medias res
with props to Alexander Pope

And so Miss Cavendish laid her tender head in the mammoth porcelain sink,
Pondering a gentle thought or two, for she dearly loved to think,

When the dainty claws that had been massaging her tresses suddenly came to a stop
And in their stead came an icy cold squeeze of some indeterminate hair salon glop.

Just as our client was gathering her wits, and a mental basket (to place them in it),
She thought she heard out the side of her ear a vague murmur that rasped, “Five minutes!”

* * *

As Miss Cavendish, now shaken, sat in a chair, awaiting her hair blower,
A sylph stalked up, dressed all in black, greeting her client with a glower.

She wielded the blow dryer with great skill, executing perfect curls with each turn,
But didn’t stop to notice when the dragon dryer breathed out such fire that burned

The delicate flesh of Miss Cavendish’s left cheekbone, once pale, now so red and sore.
Miss C wrenched her pretty head away, while the sylph’s eye roll suggested she was bored.

* * *

Our heroine, now colored and coiffed, went to don her cashmere sweater
Whilst the sylph, now multiplied by three, followed her, chirping, “I’ve never seen anything better!”

“Gorgeous!” she cried; “Beautiful!” she shrieked; “Divine . . .” she whispered knowingly
As Miss Cavendish approached the desk, bill in hand, sadly thinking, “Woe is me.”

“I like my hair, tis true indeed, but I’m now a bit of a wreck:
I’ve gone from cold to burning hot, and this pigeon wants to peck

Every green morsel from my pockets, every crumb from my wallet’s inside,
She’s ignored me while supposedly in my service, now all I want to do is hide.”

So down the elevator went innocent Miss C, thinking fresh air would be just the thing
Yet hoping that the closing door would not clip that hovering pigeon’s wing.

The false cries of pleasure echoed in the halls well after our client descended
And still ring in her ear and mind, even though her salon morning has ended.