What’s it doing there where
it’s wasted, when other parts of me are bare?
It’s not fair.
Why can’t it grow on my upper lip,
Allowing me to appear quite hip?
Why can’t it grow upon my cheeks,
Allowing me to appear quite chic?
I’ve tried to grow beards, they’ve ended in rubble;
not even a Miami Vice day-old stubble.
The less said the better ‘bout my attempted mustaches;
It’s sort of like NASCAR, if you watch for the crashes.
The hair on my right knee is lush and dark;
When female knees see it, does it light a spark?
The hair on my left knee is lighter and thinner,
Perhaps a shy she-knee would ask it to dinner.
My knee hair just sits there, betwixt hip and ankle,
When I’m wearing shorts, it constantly rankles.
I’d give it some stock in a bank or an airline
If it would climb up to my receding hairline.