Ode to Back Hair
by Casey Jepson
© 2001
Some like lips, hips, or fingers and toes.
Some like the nose, and the brows and eyes.
What's the best part of the body?
It's not the shoulders or chin or organs within, or nipples
of woman or man. Nay, back hair is what keeps me going.
Back hair that sticks out from the collar or gets caught in a belt.
Be it black, brown, yellow or red, I love back hair, you can do
so much with it. You can dye it purple or blue, use it to polish
your shoe, or comb it through with gel until it's
marvelously shaped, like an oversided ape at a gala ball. Let it fall
to the floor as you trim it in a mall shop-salon.
Collect the trimmings, sew them together and wear it as a crown like
laurel leaves on Caesar. It'll please her to now she can
ease her fingers in and out of that lovely, lovely back hair.
Braid it or clip it, don't snip it. Make ponytails with it.
Give prizes to the first hair to reach a half a foot.
Put as you would on your head shampoo and conditioner, lest the
folicles go dead and you shed your dreads under covers in bed.
Back hair is such a versatile commodity; it's worth its weight
in gold (says Rumplestiltskin) and it protects your skin,
not flea for fly nor E. Coli can get in.
And if you ever go to war, well you're in for quite a store,
like a front row seat at the front where you can't be beat. The heat
of the hair will keep you warm and safe from swarm.
Think about this, you can only see one way, so the back hairs
watch behind you and the bristles stand up to tell you
when an enemy soldier is approaching.
And if you're hairy enough it can even stop bullets.
Please, as a hobo begs a restaurant owner not to burn its leftovers,
I bid you, I bade you, not to touch a razor-blade, you
have made youself such a lusterous mop from your neck
to that crack down 'neath your back. Take your shirt off and
gloat that no goat could match the back hair
you grew. Through and threw, I leave the choice to you.
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