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(04 October 1943 / Germany)

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The Three Hairs Of Anton K.

Three hairs grew upon Anton's head
they slept each night in Anton's bed.
He groomed the hairs with special care
and wore them with a certain flair.
All of the brothers and one cousin
had fallen out, some by the dozen
it was assumed to be genetic
though in appearance kinesthetic.

Anton had once lived by the sea,
fresh air helped his arthritic knee
but when he reached age twenty-nine
he noticed a dynamic line
had settled on his frontal bone
and seemed particularly prone
to move with stealth and speed as well
onto the top, now one could tell
that he would follow in the steps
of his own favourite uncle Sepps.
Who lived to entertain the folks
with (somewhat funny) bald man's jokes.

Now Anton's mother always uttered
that lots of curls made you look cluttered
and that one's assets needed care
which would apply to human hair.
Well, Anton had a small adventure,
while at the beach his lower denture
fell into hot and sticky sand
so Anton plunged a frantic hand
to save from loss his plastic fangs
when from the ocean's waters sprang
a wind of some ferocity.

It troubled Anton's healthy knee
but what was worse is that it blew
his hair right off to Timbuktu!
Or so it seemed, he lost a lot
of happy hairs and then the plot.
To save what could be done with reason
he stayed inside throughout the season
and if the slightest little breeze
came through the windows like a wheeze
he'd hide inside his featherbed
and covered, gently, there his head.

Soon all his hairs had taken leave
and it was late, one New Year's Eve
that he decided to elope
to give his hair a bit of hope.
Now down to three he named one fellow,
he'd always liked the name Othello.
The others he called Dave and Howard
thus one for brave and one for coward.
So Anton moved into the city
which for his knee was a great pity.
But if he was to keep his hair
he was in need of savoir faire.

The movers took the heavy gear
while Anton sat and had a beer.
The work was dusty and they sweated
so one hung up a freshly wetted
large towel onto a big fan.
All hell broke loose, oh man, oh man!
The fan designed to cool the air
propelled the towel to his hair
and due to Newton's clever law
inertia is what Anton saw.
The towel, really keen to fly
caused Anton's hazel eyes to cry.
It ripped Othello, Dave and Howard
(which had just recently been showered) ,
clean off the frontal bone like that.
Now silence reigned while Anton sat
and contemplated what to do
(the movers mentioned superglue) .

They say emergencies can make
a worm into a rattlesnake,
thus Anton raced with his three hairs
down to the street, three flights of stairs.
Soon pulled into the parking lot
where it was summer and quite hot.
The hospital was known to free
sick people from their misery.
He took the lift and found a doc
and promised him Big Pharma stock
if he could rescue and restore
the life of his three hairs once more.
And so he did, it was a given
that any doctor would feel driven
by promises of lots of loot.
He gave each hair a brand new root
and signed a written warranty
(the contents were revealed to me)
but no one was to ever know
how he had made each hair to grow
because the doc's own lovely wife
had built a business for life.
The company was very big
their only product was the WIG.

Submitted: Sunday, June 10, 2007
Edited: Thursday, March 10, 2011


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Comments about this poem (2009 Happy Birthday Jerry Hughes! by Herbert Nehrlich )

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  • Tara very irritated with PH injustice (6/11/2007 1:48:00 AM)

    H, sometimes it terrifies me to think from whence your inspiration derives.... the most fruitful of imaginations I suppose. Simply wonderful! t x

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