Now I’m not a gent
Who shows discontent
At my hair being longer in style.
The suave “arty” look
Is the path that I took
In those days when I sought to beguile.

The years have moved on,
Retirement has come,
Yet my choices for hair still remain.
Calm those menacing shears,
Leave it over my ears,
And much of its length still maintain.

Yes, it may be my whim,
But I just want a trim;
That’s always been my firm instruction;
But with lockdown imposed
And barbers long-closed,
My hair now needs urgent reduction.

It hangs down my face,
Of my eyes, little trace,
Advances quite far down my neck.
There’s plenty to hack
From its length at the back;
I’ve looked in the mirror to check.
 
There’ll be more weeks to bide
‘Til the shops open wide
While my hair’s rate of growth remains zippy.
If all else now fails,
I’ll develop pigtails
And continue my life as a hippy.


© by Nick Balmforth.
Used with the author’s permission.