The Mop of Praise (Diary)

The Mop of Praise, honey, sits on my head.
Underbrush.
Overgrowth?
Either way, it has an orbit.
Like a ch-ch-ch-chia pet run amuck.

People in the street peek at me.
I think, "Boy, I must be looking runaway sexy today."
They just wonder where I got my muskrat hat.

Don't think I'm alone
The garden needs weeding, but you haven't the time.
The hedges need trimming but you can't pay the gardner 'til next Tuesday.
Why spend $57 plus a fat tip now
When you can do it in 30 days?

Meanwhile the unrulies rule
The follicles frolic
The people stare.

Where's my hat?