Number 25, Beardie

Strangely enough, I was having a nap across the seats of my truck today during my mandatory tachograph break, (this truck has a day cab, so no bunk), and I had the windows open as it was a lovely warm day.  I felt something flutter in on my head, like a leaf or something, but I was parked in the middle of the HGV parking of a motorway services area at Chieveley on the M4 and A34.  It turned out to be a business card for Sweeney Todd travelling barber, who does hair at the truck stop on Wednesdays and Thursdays, or some such arrangement, presumably for truck drivers who can't get time off to go to a barber shop!  I'd never heard of anyone doing that before.


Number 25.

Beardie.

I know the man who lives downstairs,
He lives there with his sister.
He has unusual facial hairs
We call him Mister Whisker.

Some men like to be clean shaven
His hair is below his knees
Nits could have no better haven
(Though I’ve never heard him sneeze).

Throughout his life it’s been the same
Hair a mop, always flowing,
The crowning glory that’s his mane
Has never ever quite stopped growing.

Although the front is now receding
And here and there it has got thin
Down the back it’s still proceeding
Like the stuff that’s on his chin.

His beard grows like there’s no tomorrow
Local birds have made a nest
And here and there they sometimes borrow
Extra bedding from his chest.

Not till the young have all flown south
Does he get his scissors out.
He first just trims around his mouth
And lets some light in on his snout.

Then later when the summer’s gone
He lies himself down on the lawn
His sister turns the mower on
And runs him over till he’s shorn.

But in a day or two it’s back
It grows profusely everywhere
Some of it grey but mostly black
And not a single patch is bare.

The only bit of him you’ll see
Is just his forehead to his crown
And only now and then ‘cos he
Likes to pull his hat well down.

He’s quite a friendly chap to meet
More like a sheepdog than a man
He has a brush to keep him neat
But only reaches where he can.

I asked him once what job he does
Seeing him go off each day
He takes the number seven bus
But what he does he wouldn’t say.

And then one day I was in town
And saw in standing with a mop
He looked as though he’d just washed down
The floor of Beardie’s Barber Shop!

© Stephen Saunders

This obviously is not my best effort, so expect it to change a bit, or disappear completely if I can't improve it!


To book Steph'nonsense for a rhyming evening:
bowleyfarm@gmail.com or 01428 741212

Agent / publisher wanted.