The prize for Haircut
of the Year is not a-
warded every year; it
is bestowed on a ton-
sorial performance as
the sole redeeming a-
menity within a field
of view. The drawback
here was an incontro-
vertibly well-planted
urn. A bit more deso-
lation, a little less
botanical vitality, a
new entry could sweep
the field of all pre-
tenders, by midnight.
How wittily fu-
nerary the urn,
dripping acrid-
ity to burn, as
toxic a turn as
terned, so pit-
iable to spurn.
Suspicion gathered for-
cibly among the jurors,
of the alien intruder's
exploitation of desola-
lation in self-inflict-
ed melodrama of transit.
Still, undeniable hair.
With brick and mortar
so passé in a virtual
shopping day, jurors
sensed a true hoo-ray
welling up in judging
play, and sought out
moral guidance: if de-
light found no subsid-
ence, might they call
it all a day by award-
it to hay?
Dorothy Wilding
Noel Coward
1930
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