A Wig for the Wig Man

There is a wig maker on the fifth floor

His windows are always open
(As though he is a lonely woman
With loose breasts
Undressing for admirers)
And stray bits of hair fly out

They get caught in the mouths
Of passers-by
Who call the councilman
And complain

I live below him
And I have set up a trap for the hairs
Made of discarded plastic

I plan to give them back to him
A gift
A wig for the wig maker

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