The "Plop" Poem

Plop, plop, plop

That’s the sound I hear in my mind when runners with a short layered haircut run past me.

The hair lifts and settles right back into place.

But doesn’t stay for very long.

With the next step, it rises again.

Plop, plop, plop.

The imagery lasts for 3, maybe 4, seconds before the runner is out of my field of vision

And around the corner.