*This poem is dedicated to my grandson and all little boys and girls who at some point decided they were old enough to trim or cut their own hair.
He looked in the mirror
and noticed his hair needed a trim.
“I am six years old; I can do this myself.”
He quietly took out his dad’s trimmer
and looked at himself straight into the mirror.
“looks good so far.”
ZZZZM, ZZZZZZZM, ZZZZZZZM
“Oops! Oh no!
now what do I do?”
He plunked on his baseball hat
and sat down for dinner
hoping no one notice would take
but his father’s tone assured him
he would not get a break
“Take off your hat, you know better than that.”
His Mom noticed something just did not look right
and it took some coaxing
because the little boy put up a fight.
Finally the hat flipped off his head
sure thing what mom had dread
was right on the money
and to his surprise
she looked tenderly into his eyes
“Don’t worry honey”
Big brother came to the rescue
and cut his hair down really, really short,
made it look like a navy man’s crew.
And the little boy sighed of relief;
put on his cap, picked up his basketball and ran to the court.
Melba Christie (C) 2014