Oh dear it’s haircut day
I guess I should be grateful –
she comes round to the house
and cuts what’s left up there for
almost next to nothing, these days
she’s a bright cookie but
no conversationalist
so I attempt to make pleasant small talk
for both our benefits I like to think
but if I say something she disagrees with
like who sells the best fish around here
or immigration
she corrects me with such withering scorn
that I feel I should apply for
institutionalisation. Or cremation.
my masculine side says stuff her,
don’t even try
so I have to call on
my feminine side
to think, to be like that
she must have had an awful childhood
or adolescence, or both
'Fate with the abhorréd shears...' (classical quote)
she’s due now – report back later
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0029-it-s-haircut-day/
