Dear friends, beloved family,
Unknown refreshment-moochers, we
Are gathered here to honor they
Who from our heads have passed away
As we stood, trembling, in the shower,
Helpless in the path of power
Far beyond our comprehending.
Folliclump, thy life is ending
Far too soon, and what a life!
We tore at you in times of strife,
We stroked you with the hands of love,
And when bird bottoms high above
Unburdened were of what they’d swallowed,
You absorbed the splat that followed.
Mornings after, you excused
Those for-the-roads we’d not refused
And sheltered us from public scorn
With “bad hair days.” Though you were shorn
With regularity, and dyed,
The thousand bands with which we tied
You back today will mourn their loss:
The shoelaces; the dental floss;
The ribbon from a Christmas present;
Meat-soaked string from one unpleasant
Meal with a forgotten date
Who, up to then, was always late,
For whom we’d promised we’d prepare
A home-cooked dish, then they were there
An hour early, looking fine,
While we tied greasy locks with twine
And tried to act as if our clocks
Were all the ones at fault; and socks.
Companion on our aimless roaming,
Object of last-minute combing,
Brushing, fluffing, mom-spit pasting,
Tugging, teasing, tousling, tasting,
Braiding, curling, this is it:
Today, not just your ends have split,
So, too, you from our dermal field did
Pull your roots until it yielded.
Someday, should we meet again
In heaven’s hair salon, you’ll spin
A pony-tale to help explain
Just why today you chose the drain
Beneath our feet above the dome
That we were proud to call your home.
We can’t deny we feel the pull
That summoned thee, dear follicle,
But ’til the day we’re unenstalled
From life’s poor porcelain tub, we bald
And balding mortals wish thee luck
The drain’s still stuck.