Poems
Hairmare
I could not help but stand and stare
Because I just don’t like my hair
Had the man gone raving mad
With those bloomin’ tools he had
Once I was seated in that chair
He glanced at me without a care
Fool was I to think he’d know
Just how far with scissors to go
Now I look an awful sight
Some might even say a fright
Coconuts belong up in a tree
Not gracing top of head of me
You a hairdresser? That’s a laugh
My day’s spent going out in scarf
As for training, how can this be?
Some kind of sheep farm probably
Thanks for nothing ‘Sweeny Todd’
To me you’re just a wicked sod!
So when my hair returns for sure
I’ll run a mile from the salon’s door.
By Sandra Witham
Copyright 2006 – All Rights Reserved