The appeal of inanimate objects

I left your braids in for weeks
so that your hair had clumped in places like a rug.
I promised you I would comb slowly
and I did try,
using so much conditioner
your hair felt like a swamp.
But it got late
and you were yelling so much
that it hurt
so I got mad too
and made your dad take over
while I lay on our bedroom floor,
overcome with a desperate desire
to work with material
that doesn’t suffer
when I fail.