Slick Rick

There he is.
Perched on a bus stop bench
Like a vulture in the desert,
Slick Rick with his matted hair restless on his head,
The smell of mildew blooming from his golden locks.
His crusty eyelids meet, winking at a neatly dressed
Little girl as he chews a fat pink wad of gum.
He reaches deep within his pocket
And pulls out his beloved mermaid comb.
He begins to groom,
Each stroke with more finesse than the one before.
He pulls out a tube of gel.
He squirts it in his hand and begins to polish his hair.
In a short time I understand why
They call him Slick Rick.
The man with hair as sweet as lemonade on a Sunday morning.

by Troy Pintarelli
11th grade, Kahuku High School