by R. Engels
A very silly poem I wrote for one of the poetry contests.
My Friend Claire has no Hair
My good friend Claire has a shiny, bald head,
I feel awful for her, but she loves it, she said.
She adorns it with stickers, feathers and such,
And she walks around town asking people to touch.
She wouldn't dare ever cover it with a hat,
She stated that it's too magnificent for that.
And on hot summer days when the sun is shining bright,
Her bald head lights up, reflecting ultraviolet light.
You have to wear sunglasses, or at least cover your eyes,
Anyone not prepared for her gleaming dome dies.
I always carry extra glasses in my purse,
I share with the unprepared so they won't need a hearse.
Claire performs an odd bedtime routine every night,
She wraps newspaper around her bald gourd super tight.
But first she covers her bald with two pints of sour cream,
She says it's helpful in warding off any bad dream.
I think my friend Claire's bald head isn't quite right,
Because four men in white coats took her away tonight.
They said she shouldn't be gone more than a week or so,
They told her to wash off the sour cream before they could go.
A week had come and gone, and no sign of Claire,
Just a lady coming closer with a boatload of hair.
So much, in fact, that it covered most of her face,
She kept tripping and falling; it was a disgrace.
"Hey, lady, ya need some help?", I begrudgingly asked.
The hairy lady stopped in her tracks and pulled out a flask.
I think she guzzled down every last drop,
Then she clumsily tripped over the curb with an obnoxious plop.
"It's me, Claire," said the hairy lady, with her face smashed in dirt.
The men in white sewed this hair on my bald, and it hurt.
She stood up and brushed the unwanted hair out of her eyes,
Then she screamed, hollered, filled the world with awful cries.
She ran inside and headed straight for the bathroom door,
"I don't want this hair! I don't want it anymore!"
She grabbed her razor and got straight to work,
I tiptoed up the stairs and over by the bathroom to lurk.
Ten minutes later, she emerged wearing a huge smile,
She had her bald back, the unwanted hair on the floor in a huge pile.
"There's nothing wrong with my bald, I don't care what people think."
And she proceeded to spray-paint her baldness hot pink.
Well, that's my friend, Claire, who has no hair.
You can point, tease, laugh, and stare.
But guess what? She doesn't care.
Awesome, confident, bald-headed Claire.