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Glory days. A poem.

As sure as my barnet

keeps growing and growing

The tufts of my neck hair

will most definitely need mowing. .

Like a ghostly shadow,

Forget about shaving,

Monobrows are back in, right?

Standards are dropping. .

Hands up who’s wanting

to add to the brood

To get all kinds of fruity,

really, in this mood? .

As I glance at my reflection,

to observe the decay

The spotty complexion,

from too much chard-nnay. .

Wine and chocolate of late

have become my companions

They don’t get too moody

Don’t answer back

Ask questions. .

The debris builds up ‘round our

precious fortress(es)

A gradual losing of the battle,

Plastic tat in the masses. .

Our dignity weirdly

still holding on by thread,

Safe in knowing

we’ll soon be free

from the homestead .

And as September calls

and we arrive to school

defiantly more furry,

show it off proudly and loudly,

In badge of honour-like glory!


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