Sunday, June 14, 2015

The Zetlandic Muse #1: Beardopolis


Welcome to Shetland, land of the beard
Where weak jawlines are made to disappear
And chins, quadruple down to double
Sprout wispy, weedy down, or fearsome stubble
The kind that leaves a rash or even scars
The casual  kisser, or removes the paint from cars
Should face and body work collide 
Some small refreshment having been imbibed

It can take many months, or even years
To grow a quite convincing Viking beard
And would-be Norsemen, filled with fear and doubt
Their naked chins refusing to sprout
Resort to desperate measures, pills and ointments
To counter any hairless disappointment 
Hormone supplements, consumed in quantities
So vast, they've opened special pharmacies

Male pattern baldness, fought by men down south
Means nothing here. It's whiskers round the mouth
Which mark the man of honour, poise and strength
No wonder here we'll go to any length
Those bristles to obtain
We'll suffer any pain

Abrasion with sandpaper will
Used with a Black and Decker drill
Stimulate, I'm told those Viking follicles
It's a fact, historical, absolute and true

It worked for me. I pray it works for you

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