Moustaches Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Dali's moustaches
Were tuned in to the stars.

Hitler's was merely a typewriter ribbon
Over the clacking steel of his words
Europe in mourning underneath his nose.

The laughing Chevalier's
Was choc-a-block with beer
Whilst Kitchener's was kitsch.

How like hedges grow the world's moustaches!
They hibernate in winter Icicle bound and brittle.
Soup creeps up their stems
Pea green, tomato,
Even Chinese lentil
Abseils along their strands

Hercule Poirot's was stiff
As a Welsh Life Guard
But a mandarin's dangled like liquorice
Sly and Oriental
Eminently knottable, suckable,
Machiavellian.

Doused in drams
Moustaches curl and bristle
Like porcupines
Or walruses on parade

Moustaches of the world,
We salute you
Razors are sharpening a little to the left
The sinister side...
Droop, droop,
You may evolve into a beard.