A poetical take on the Movember experience.
“Mustache” is just a fancy name
For a hairy upper lip.
I successfully grew one,
But it looked more like a quip,
A kind of mid-face decoration
Or some infra-nostril frip
Pery, being quite unnecessary.
My girls offered me the tip
That I’d looked halfway decent
But now looked like a dip.
More, I learned the ‘stache
Hampered every sip
And bother me while eating,
Leaving me quite un-hip.
Plus, on the bristly tickleness
I never could get a grip.
And so on December 1,
My scissors went snip-snip
And left my face nude again.
Movember was a trip.
Whew! But you’re a good poet with a mustache!