In The Summertime

In the early seventies,
I had a semi-Afro hairstyle,
and a shaggy beard.

I thought
I looked like
the lead singer
in Mungo Jerry,
but aspired to be
Che Guevara.

These days,
the beard is trimmed
and a semi-Afro hairstyle
would look silly
with the Kalahari desert
running from north to south.

At the unisex hairdresser,
a young lady
with a lisp,
nose ring
and jasmine fragrance
asks me if I want a number one.

I tell her to aim for two point seven five.

She chuckles
and says I remind her
of her grandfather.

Even though
itโ€™s summertime,
sheโ€™s never heard
of Mungo Jerry

and she thinks
Che Guevara
is a Spanish


© Shackleton 2020
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critique and comments welcome.

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Yes, too much truth here for my liking! My barber thinks I’m so old she asks to be paid upfront in case I peg out in the chair before she’s finished! ๐Ÿ™‚
Loved the humour in this.


A young lady smelling of Jasmine with a nose ring and a lisp – I would keep well away. ๐Ÿ˜‰ Mind you I once went to a Turkish barber and he set my bloody ears on fire. My wife cuts mine now – and pleased to say I still have a thick full covering with the odd hint of grey. Thanks for the early laugh…


So true! Especially since I remember that song only too well. I suppose hair loss is a particularly unkind cut (no pun intended) to our generation as we were the first to wear it long. Really enjoyed this poem.

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