My daughter’s prom night

I take her to the best hairdresser in town,

where her tresses are washed and curlered and dried

and back-combed and teased and sprayed.

She loves it.

As she walks beside me, smiling and confident,

like a Charlie’s Angel in a hoody

I look beyond the traffic lights and over the bridge

to where another young girl is making her entrance.

A pink horse-drawn hearse leads a procession of six.

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