A Hairy Mess

A HAIRY MESS Oh they were the days When treading the stage of life, That as a ‘billy-lid’ a curly crop did reside And father did his rendition as a barber Outside on verandah six monthly, With clippers held in pause for an endless attack And no quarters given to my screams “Dad! It bloody hurts,” And a basin top dictated the fashion And off to school with ridicule it became, Then as growing lad in teens Crew and flat tops were all the rage For a well-groomed kid with a quid from wage, Then as life progressed and on the dotted line I signed, Where under hat was mine Outside naval possession taken, And as life progressed in time frames as it does Not much notice of what was happening slowly To the curly mop on top retreating from skull, And now in life as days surrender to age And what was above the eyebrows, For now I reminisce about what was there, And now for me A throw across is my miserly attempt, To pacify me That maybe, Just maybe for me there is hope Of a revival with dreadlocks displayed in glory, And I pontificate “Oh! My kingdom for a comb. Francis Cooper – Mac © 01-Jul-20