Yesterday, while at school, studying for a quiz, I saw that there was an open mic poetry reading. While passing the sign, I recalled a poem that I wrote about my wife’s hair while bored in church. So, I told my wife about it, asked if she and my daughter wanted to come, and we were on our way with my whimsical poem.
At first, I thought it was just a local university thing, with a few of the local college kids. However, I learned that this is only one night of a few that involved some major published poets, and had been held elsewhere across the city. This poetry event has been running for something like 20 years, and I was told that this is one of the biggest poetry reading events in the United States! Last night, was just a small part of the much larger event.
Anyway, I got up to the mic, and read my poem. I’ve never done this before, so I was actually quite nervous. To me, everyone in front of me was poetry and prose professionals, English majors, writers and the like. I’m sure my poem was child’s play to the profound poetry they had. But, I wanted to share my little poem, even if I was an amateur.
Just a little background on the poem: My wife and I were preparing for church one Sunday morning. When I got out of the shower, while drying myself off, one of my wife’s hair got caught around my leg, and a bit later, my arm. Further, she was worried about losing her hair, and at every brush stroke, felt she was becoming bald by the day. Well, while sitting in church, listening to the sermon, I was quite bored, so I pulled out my notebook, and started penning a poem about her hair.
I had been reading Dr. Seuss a bit before that day, so his quirky meter and rhyming style was on my mind. As a result, the poem doesn’t really have a specific meter or rhythm. It’s pretty carefree. It was meant entirely to be light and playful, and a bit overboard. My wife enjoys it, and it gathered quite the roar of laughter during and after I had read it last night. I initially wrote it in 2005.
Anyway, here it is, in full.
My Wife’s Hair
by Aaron Toponce
Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
Some rights reserved.
I just got married and inherited a wife.
Oh my, what a life!
It’s just not right
that I have to fight.
No not with her, but what’s on her head
and that she happens to shed.
It isn’t fair that she loses her hair.
The problem? It’s everywhere!
It’s on the pillow and on the sheets.
The stuffed armadillo, even my pant pleats.
I get out of the shower and grab a towel.
I dry myself off- wait. What’s that? (scowl)
It’s more hair! Where’s the Nair?
My arms, legs, hands and feet
are all caught ensnare.
And there I sit in despair on the chair bare.
I swear all I wear is her long hair.
I need to get dressed, but it’s such a mess
to grab my pants, my shirt and underdress
and find her long folicle.
It’s just diabolical.
Now I’m ready to go out for the day
I go to the kitchen for a glass of milk.
What am I met with? But the silk
of that thin dark hair on a freshly sliced pear.
Maybe I’ll have some cereal,
but there it is just as real
in my Froot Loops! Oops!
I better be careful wherever I go.
For every minute passed allows her hair to grow.
On the couch? Of course.
Guess the source.
The car? It’s on the seat.
Even the shoes for my feet.
The TV? Look at the screen. Is it clean?
What about the sink?
Or the local skating rink?
The computer desk or the curtains pink?
Yes, Yes, Yes! I must confess.
The tub, the floor
the poor dog and the door knob.
It’s a mob of hair.
At work, I shirk at the very thought
that my whole day was wrought
with fighting my wife’s hair.
“There. Right there,”
my coworker announced.
“It’s on your shirt.” And there he pounced
towards me to get the present that my wife renounced.
“That’s awfully long for a fellow like you.
Have you some confessing to do?”
He asked with a sarcastic grin.
“The joys of marriage,” I responded.
“With your wife’s hair, you’ll never win.”
Back at home, the count had increased
to millions. Maybe even billions! Please, oh please!
It’s an army out to get you, so fight!
It won’t to any good.
Just get a jacket and pull up the hood.
“Protect yourself!” my dad used to say.
“Protect yourself in every way!”
Never had hair crossed my mind
that would come across as the aggressive kind.
So here I stay in a marriage exposed
to a contract that was never proposed.
Every night, when I kneel at my bed,
I pray about my wife’s evil head:
“Please Lord have mercy on my soul.
Hair isn’t meant for my soup bowl.
It doesn’t belong in closet
or the bathroom faucet.
And I think that I should sleep
without a peep deep.
Is this your idea of Armageddon
to begin war with her hair?
After my weddin’?
Look at my house Lord.
Look at the place.
I can hardly kneel at my bed
without getting hair in my face.
Give me this day a long needed break
from the hair that her evil head will make.
Please, for goodness sake.
But, thy will be done, Lord. I must confess
Even if I must endure this hairy mess.
If I must endure, then one blessing that is high
on my ‘To-Do List’, (sigh)
is to give me the strength that I must bear
to shave my wife’s head of all of her hair.”