Tag Archives: Roald Dahl

The Boys Like Playing In The Creek

The boys like playing in the creek

They look for crawlies under the smooth stones and spiders in the hollow logs
Tadpoles swim between their legs, growing their own

Then someone slips and laughter fills the air
Cold water fills the pockets of their shorts

Every tree trunk is a target, and every arm a hero
As birds whiz past their heads like darts

They also like climbing the neighbour’s fence and pinching fruit
Then batting blowflies and bees with old tennis rackets

Though they aren’t too keen on kissing girls yet
Or when their parents call them home for dinner

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Male Pattern Hairness

It’s in my ears
And in my nose
It’s on the parts of me that no one goes

My neck a carpet
My belly button, a nest
It just keeps coming
Hey. God. This a test?

Tufts of fuzz on the small of my back
Short and curly tangles on butt, crack and sack
Big thick long ones out the middle of moles
Nobody can explain the meaning of those

This hair, my hair
Far out how it grows
Like a hanging garden
Underneath my clothes

Sure, follicles fall out
Let go like leaves from a tree
But the rate that they sprout
> than the rate they break free

Tell me why my toes need hairs
And why the hell can’t my knuckles be bare?
These thatchy patches are everywhere

Think Mr Twit, Cousin Itt, or matted shower plug
Whatever you call this, this all­over rug

It’s hirsute, it’s tenacious
Persistent
Ungracious

You might laugh, and baldly
Say I’m 99 part chimpanzee
But hey, if you had hair like this?
You’d be plucking like me

*This poem originally appeared in Bite Me—The Issue with Hair, November 2014 (Thank you, Katrina—my fellow God-Parent)

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