The Bad Toupe Club Poem by Kevin Crinks

We gather at the end of day Provided that it’s not too breezy We try to look quite natural But God alone knows it’s not easy We keep one hand upon our rug Until we’re safe inside the bar There’s nothing less undignified Than chasing wigs from door to car

Some say our bold displays betray Our hands now losing grip on youth Our medallions and widening girth Show we’re miles long in the tooth We must be frank – we’re getting old And unattractive, it’s often said We’re part of the “Bad Toupe Club” We’re clothed and covered, but not yet dead!