Have already eaten.

I was on the bus when

someone started combing and then

presumably braiding my hair,

it was only when I felt creamed aerosol

I thought they might have gone too far.

What was mirrored in a window, frosted cold,

had a French Aristocratic air

that looked like icing from the top of a cake.

White with blue outlines with the occasional speck of gold.

My dresser drew a finger

over my cowlicks fair

and tasted their creation.

I rubbed the icing out of my hair then

until I could see my hair arising

emerging

appearing

from the froth of smeared sugar

until only a few sweet specks remained.