The decade was a requiem
To every god we’d lost
In the process of doing our hair.

We suffocated with hairspray,
Cracked bones around our fingers to make curls--
Released the wizened spirits

Into our boomboxes and waited
‘Til something hit us back
Onto the dancefloor.
It didn’t take much--
High pitched voices in general
Made us weak
And anything electric
Took over our feet like a shockwave.

Snapped heels, rolled ankles--
Our dead gods
Spinning into infinity,
Making themselves immortal in yearbooks
And CDs
And my grandmother’s hair.