Heretic (Hair a Tic)

His hair a ticking time bomb,
too soon gray or gone.
A fright wig of proportion,
to his look so frail and wane.

The last of the Mohawks,
went down with Mr. T.
Pirates are still wearing ‘em,
in the Caribbean Sea.

Spotting mullets a rage,
all across the land.
At motorcycle rallies,
they are close at hand.

A crew cut is so manly,
an astronaut's delight.
You could play pool upon it,
in the dawn's early light.

A bald spot can be covered,
by shaving the entire head.
Be careful how you dive in,
you'll slide right out of bed.

The military cut's the rage,
in the Baghdad streets.
A helmet won't protect you,
when your hairline retreats.

So go wipe your nose,
and get a haircut.

hair collage

Copyright 2006 © Ronald W. Hull


More Poems

My Place

Read War's End, the Novel