Bald by Melanie Meyer


I jog in my socks

to meet Michael Jackson at Copps

2AM and below-zero wind chill

I pee on my feet

to keep them warm


He is not there

I jog back home

and stuff my pee-stained pants

into a drawer


In B65 they find “shanks” in my hair

shards of glass caked with toothpaste

to ward off mortals

They cut off my hair

I dance

because I am Michael Jackson’s cousin

and a body-building champion

I don’t need hair


Hour later, white-robed voices glide

inside my hospital room

Milligrams of lithium later

My feet frostbitten

Michael Jackson not my relative

Muscles barely there

Human and my hair gone

Partly bald like my brain

Missing like my mania

Only spare bare truth



Melanie Meyer lives in Middleton, Wisconsin with her beautiful toddler age daughter. She is an MFA candidate at National University, specializing in Fiction. Previous publication credits include Fiction Southeast and the Wisconsin Review. Her story “A Woman Like That” appeared in the Spring/Summer 2017 print edition of the GNU Journal. Melanie’s other interests include medicine, nutrition, fitness, social justice, and the theatre arts.