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A Shaggy Tale
By Jan Beaumont ©

My hairdresser - like me -
is still on lockdown
My image in the mirror's
made it crack
I'm thinking I should go 
into the bedroom
Turn the lock and stay there 
till she's back.

I look like some untidy 
scruffy hobo
My unkempt mane has turned from
blonde to white
Its grown like garden weeds
In summer rainfall
I'm honestly
A most peculiar sight.

I used to be a natural
shade of auburn
Not ginger, but a rather
fetching red
But now the white
has started reappearing
And what I've got's 
a 'piebald' look instead.

I guess I'll have to self apply
some colour
It seems the only thing 
that I can do
I'll tuck the messy strands
behind my earlobes
And say a silent prayer
For Level Two.

On Level Four we can't 
Go out to movies
No takeaways or cream cakes
From the caf
No shopping, and no visits
To our girlfriends,
This lockdown lark is well
And truly naff.

So Level Three should see us
slightly better
We're hoping that the weeks
will somehow fly
But Level Two's the one
I'm hanging out for
Its enough to make me
drink the cabinet dry.

My image now has gone from
bad to shocking 
I think I'll have to put it
To the vote
I'm off to get the
biggest sharpest razor
But ... do I cut my hair
Or cut my throat?

This virus seems to be
A little weaker
I hope so - I can feel
It in my gut.
Let's hope we're down  
from Three to Two real quickly
'Cos I'm desperate for
a dye job and a cut!

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