The tornado picked Dorothy Alice up and swept her away.
She twirled around inside the funnel.
Upside down and right side up.
Forwards and backwards.
There was no way to tell what was what
Or where was where.
As she tumbled about, Dorothy Alice deeply regretted
Her choice of hairstyle.
She had meant to put it into twin braids.
But the tornado had come so fast,
The best she could do was put a headband on.
Her hair whipped and lashed in her face.
Her hair slashed and slapped in her eyes.
She inhaled a few strands.
A few strands slicked into her mouth.
And there was not a thing she could do about it.
It seemed to be a long time, but that was not so.
It was truthfully a matter of minutes.
The funnel touched down on the ground.
It released her and disappeared.
It took her forty-nine minutes to regain her equilibrium.
It took her fifty-nine minutes to regain her wits.
The damage was done.
Her hair was a mess.
A knotted up
A tangled up
A matted up
A wrecked up mess.
And she had no brush to pull her hair into order.
And she had no ponytail holder to get her hair out of the way.
She stood and dusted herself off.
The world around her was unfamiliar.
The world around her was not her home.
She readjusted her headband.
She was determined to find her own way home.
So, she could have her afternoon tea
And get her hair cut.