We five friends all go way back to childhood,
We are sticking at "late middle age".
We're in regular touch and swap stories,
Of the "hold back the years" fight we wage.
Plaiting eyebrows and other such measures...
Our struggles to keep nicely thin...
Moustaches that seem to be growing,
Plus the stray wires that sprout from the chin.
We ask ourselves, "Does all this matter?
Does it bother us? Why should we care?"
But I knew that I had to try something,
To get rid of my fine facial hair.
So I went to the chemist's this morning,
Scanned the shelves and the stands and the racks,
Found a product that promised an answer:
It was boxed, and contained strips of wax.
The instructions were somewhat perplexing,
Though some drawings were there as a guide.
One lot fell in the bath and was useless,
But one length was duly applied.
I pressed this down gently but firmly,
Under nose and along upper lip,
Then got hold of the small tab of paper
Which, as promised, was "easy to grip".
I took some deep breaths for a minute
(As, for what lay ahead, one must brace,)
Next, I tugged hard - a single swift movement -
In that quest for a perfect bald face.
I winced at the burning sensation...
Checked the strip for the whiskers therein...
What I held now appeared to be empty -
With the residue stuck to my skin.
I opened an "aftercare" sachet -
One of four that my small kit supplied -
But the oil on the wipe was quite useless,
On the wax that had clumped up and dried.
Should I purchase my own special razor?
Shave each morning, in common with men.
Where I waxed is now sore, red and sticky,
And the verdict is "never again"!