Haute coiffure Poem by Jan Wagner

the gaze was gripped by the mirror's golden vice:
she with red nails, I with white
cloth, covered like a museum-piece.

close by my ears twittered
the scissors. oh fragrant flock of attendant
creams and phials! the water spluttered,

but down below on the smooth tiled floor
the fluff banded together against us,
a silent mob with an ancient lore.

outside dogs howled, and freshly trimmed
the hair on the back of my neck bristled,
the wolf within me tearing at his chain.

Translation: Georgina Paul