Back In The Black

Poem By Phil Ward

John would look in the mirror and stare,
At the thinning of his hair,
Making wishes, needs and wants,
For a thatch upon his bonce.

How can someone as young as he,
Be accepted seriously,
When all the hair above his face,
Retreated at a galloping pace.

Then all at once he had this thought,
If a dark patch could be bought,
In his pocket he'd carry a comb,
If something lived upon his dome.

So off in search of knowledge new,
And seek advice from folk he knew,
Of what they thought that he should do,
He'd get himself a large tattoo.

It would show that he's a man,
And look the part as best he can,
Suave, distinguished head held high,
He wouldn't need to be so shy.

As the work was going on,
An old fedora he did don,
To hide away from prying eyes,
What would be his great surprise.

His head now done it was fantastic,
Hair pulled forward with elastic,
But it wasn't hair anew,
Just a massive black tattoo.

To hide what once was white and pink,
Pretty good what do you think?
Instead of what was smooth and bare,
Was sporting his new Barnet Fair.

Now he struts around the town,
Showing off what's on his crown,
All he has to now remember,
Is that date in late September.

When his head would show the sign,
Of that funny growing line,
Where the hair just didn't sprout,
And looked as though the tide was out.

That's the time he goes on back,
For a top-up of the black,
And browse the coiffure books a while,
Seeking out the latest style.

Philip L Ward ©

Comments about Back In The Black

Love it, great stuff.
A really great poem, like it.

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Work till we drop, work till we drop,
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The roofs got a leak; the cars got a dent,
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Can you spare some coins from your change?
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And the people I meet just couldn’t care less,

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I love to go to the village pub and meet old friends of mine,
To prop up the bar and share a jar of beer or a glass of wine,
Just like old John, yes please John a pint of best,
He doesn’t drink a lot, a pint and he’s gone,