A social site for poets in Sydney.
Let’s go back to the late seventies; I had been contemplating it for quite some time,
In the spring of nineteen seventy eight, change was in the air and it was time for mine,
It was not the ridicule that worried me; it was more the longer lasting effects,
My friends would take the piss anyway but if it all went wrong I was totally bollixed.
One Friday evening after work I called into Anna’s to make an appointment,
Next week at the same time she would make sure that I was not disappointed,
She knew that it was a big decision and I realised that it would not be cheap,
Such are the decisions that we make in life, sometimes they left us up the creek.
So a week later I walked thru her door, to the strong smell of shampoo and hairspray,
This was predominantly a woman’s domain, with lots of feminine products on display,
A big pile of different coloured hair was swept into a corner, once living and now dead,
Even that hair looked feminine to me and already I was having some deep regrets.
Then I am guided to the washing chair and leaned backwards for a good long rinse,
After a quick towel dry she seats me at the chopping block and my ordeal begins,
Hair that was quite long to begin with, soon has lines off biting curlers stuck to my head,
My scalp feels like it is about to peel off, each twist and roll only increased my dread.
Well if only my friends could see me now, as once more I am guided to another seat,
Then she lowers the space helmet over my head, turns it on and cranks up the heat,
The noise is almost unbearable and she signals if I would like a cup of tea,
I nodded acceptance then a searing pain runs through my head and down to my feet.
After that the only thing I could move above my shoulders without pain was my eyes,
My head begins to feel like a cake been baked in an oven and I tell you no lies,
Then relief as she turned it off, cool air rushes in as she stood there smiling,
After a quick check under the bonnet, she says you are coming along nicely.
She allows me to have a quick cigarette, standing outside the back kitchen door,
The front door was out of the question as I did not want to be put on show,
Then it was back to the torture for another hour, while reading old magazines,
By now my head was completely numb and I have drained my third cup of tea.
At last I watch as her feet approach and look up with great expectations,
To my utter relief she turns the head wrecker off and moved me yet once again,
Now as I sit facing a mirror my face has turned the colour of a blood red apple,
The relief is exquisite as she removes the curlers, half an hour later I am happy.
For the first time in my life I actually notice the weight of hair on my head,
It feels compact bouncing up and down, it sure feels different it has to be said,
When my mother sees it she says, how could you do that to your lovely hair,
You will look like a gypsy for at least six months and you don’t even care.
I climb the stairs wash and put on good clothes, then I head out for the night,
As I walk to my car I get plenty of stares, they notice something is not right,
When my friends see me they all take the piss and start to laugh and shout,
But all the girls love it and want to touch, Kevin Keegan eat your heart out
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