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Poem

My hair grows much faster than most
You can ask my friends, teachers or ghost
If it is in a mohawk by breakfast it is at my shoulders at noon
I can usually stand on my locks in the mid-afternoon

My hair does not normally or usually grow exactly the same
God has blessed me with an unfathomable growing-hair mane
Sometimes it is ginger, curly with a wink of chestnut
Cutting it off at the roots and you will hear them “tut-tut”.

They are in charge of what my hair next will be.
Sometimes it is thin other times as thick as a fat chickadee
One time it grew straight and coarse like a horse’s tail
It was so long I stepped on it going out to get the mail

My locks are all woven into mats for the cat orphanage
I hear that when they get scroungy, they feed them to their pig
His name is Wilbur and he gets excited when he sees me arrive.
He has scarfed down mats made of my hair, I think ninety-five.

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