Cutting it Close - Another Tortfeezor Original Poem

As I readied for work the day before last,
I glanced in the mirror as I hurried past.
I noticed my hair was starting to shag,
But going to the barber is kind of a drag.

I could have gone on another week or two,
Before having to pay for a new sleeker ‘do.
But I supposed my poor boss would probably scoff
At my near-‘Flock of Seagulls’-pompadour coif.

It was ducktail meets mop-top meets smooth pageboy flip,
Matching the beatnik soul patch just under my lip.
I get chided for my mane, but cut me some slack -
It’s all business up front and a party in back.

But salons are expensive and my budget is fixed,
And my experience with Great Clips has been decidedly mixed.
And it would cost me a fortune to have a pro cut my strands,
So I figured I’d take these matters into my hands.

I got out the scissors and clippers and comb,
Why pay for something you can just do at home?
A snip and a clip, a trim with some shears,
I altered my tresses and lowered my ears.

But before I knew it things got out of hand,
And my hair was much shorter than originally planned.
The floor of the garage was covered in fuzz,
I had given myself a high and tight buzz.

Much to my great disappointing dismay,
It seems that my excitement had now given way,
To a style that I, much to my alarm, found,
Makes me look quite unbelievably round.

But there’s more to this story than may meet the eye,
I did shave my head but there’s another reason why.
I don’t mean to puzzle, perplex or confuse,
But reasons above are merely a ruse.

So before I go on, I must give a pause,
And tell you the haircut had a meaningful cause.
You see my wife’s chemo is taking a toll.
It changes the body and vexes the soul.

For women the hair loss is a devastating effect
Though they usually know what result to expect.
And it’s not proud pretension or inflated conceit,
It’s part of identity and not being complete.

It’s nothing to do with narcissism or vanity,
And if it were me I’d likely lose all my sanity.
So she does her best not to cry and complain,
But I know it hurts when it goes down the drain.

No one can yet tell that she’s losing her hair,
She’s shedding a bit but most is still there.
But there may come a day when the worst will occur,
So my closely shorn scalp is a reminder of her.

So we'll put up with hair that’ll be thinning,
If it means in the end it’s the battle she’s winning.
I like to think the effects of the meds she’s infusing,
Is a promising indication that the cancer is losing.

Well I’ve heard that God knows the hairs on your head -
Everyone one of them numbered, at least so it’s said.
So I don’t worry much because I’ve got the feeling.
He’ll spend much less time counting and much more time healing.