[Editor’s Note: This is the fifth in a daily series of Janet Hoult poems from “Body Parts,” a collection of poetry about aging.]
Changing Hair Styles
When we are young, our pheromones are settled in our hair
Each time we shake our curly locks, they waft into the air
To see if other lads and lasses
Are open to us making passes
Now we are old and though still bold we find the youth turn us down cold
Our hair no longer has the luster; indeed we cannot even muster
Enough pheromones in our gray hair, which is becoming very spare
To interest one of the opposite sex
Let's face it, they look at us as wrecks
We do have other attributes
That many folks think of as cute
And we can woo them with our smarts
And win ourselves a few sweethearts.
Of course the ones who are with us still
When we’ve passed over the top of the hill
Are family members like my young grandson
Who, when I cut my gray hair short for fun,
Looked around my head at my new hair style.
He didn’t miss much and gave me a big smile
As he found the gray circles and I winced as he said
“Grammy, I always knew you had eyes in the back of your head.”
Ms. Hoult, who lives in Carlson Park with her husband Charlie, may be contacted at HOULTight@aol.com
