Lose the syrup

Every time you see me wince,

When your toupee misshapes,

How long must I endure,

Your less than subtle skull capes

How it flops and furls around your head

When you get up to dance,

How it holds the general public

In a static gaping trance

How I hate, how I despise

When you allow your lid to rise,

When it detaches in small patches

as you swerve the stormy skies

What is hiding neath your syrup?

some sort of barber based disaster?

Does your scalp squeak when you wash it?

Is it pale as alabaster?

lose the syrup 

don’t use a syrup 

remove the syrup I beg

I imagine a dilemma,

When your lady friend comes round,

you kiss her gently on the hand

While holding tight  to your crown

Will the rug remain in situ

As you dazzle with repartee?

Or watch in horror

as it falls in her lap

when you serve her creme brulee?

And in your efforts to impress 

tell me how far would you undress?

would you rest it on the mantle?

or perch it on a candle?

Are there contraptions by the bedside

Does it need a nightly mangle?

or do you prefer to  fling it with abandon?

do you let it freely roam?

is it scattered with your clothing

like a guinea pig, uncombed?

What’s the deal with what lies under?

does it look like a wrinkled egg?

Whatever it is can it be that bad?

remove the syrup I beg

lose the syrup 

don’t use a syrup 

remove the syrup I beg

Are you afraid to show your curls

 or is it thin and getting thinner?

is it tattooed with a picture

of your favourite Sunday dinner?

Was that dye job so disastrous

that it requires a hairy jacket?

did the lustrous black it promised you 

not do what it said on the packet?

Do you remember at the racetrack

When you stooped to pick up your beer

Do you remember the redness of my face

When you uttered the words so clear

‘Ahem, scuse me love,

but it would appear my syrup

is caught in your stirrup

just to think of it drives me to tears

Whatever it is stop worrying

Bald is cool man,

Bald is character,

When alls been done and said,

So please remove that weird appendage 

you have resting on your head

It isn’t cool, you don’t look young,

You look like what you are

An ageing, vain and wig adorning

man who went too far

Dad, you’re old, you’re bald, let it go

Published by G Turner

Gavin Turner is a poet and writer of short fiction. He lives in North West England. Some of his work is published here on this site and more recently in other journals and publications.

One thought on “Lose the syrup

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