My Father's Hair - a family poem; a hair poem

MY FATHER’S HAIR
by
Greg Pincus

My father hasn’t cut his hair in thirty-seven years.
So part of him’s a mystery:
I’ve never seen his ears.

My mother claims he used to be
Clean cut and oh-so-cute.
Yet now there's no denying it:
My dad's become hirsute.

You try and comb his tangles out,
You end up glassy-eyed.
An hour after Dad goes out
His hair is still inside.

When we need string to fly a kite,
We use dad’s hair instead.
There’s lots of oddball uses
For that stuff up on his head.

Still, let me share a secret here,
I hope you’re not appalled...
But I can say without a doubt
I wish my dad was bald.


This week's Poetry Friday roundup is over at the always-delicious Jama's Alphabet Soup. Go on and check it out.

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