My head, so it's my choice

Dad summoned me, his son,

in the idle Sunday morning

ought to be most ideal day,

purport for a hair trimming

For you school going guys,

mantain it at a minimum

must vanish at d’ margins,

as a formal military pattern

I pleaded mom, don’t tag me

with dad, for hair cut session

stomping d’ feet on ground,

stormed out of d’ sweet home

Dad followed me announcing,

for launch to come back soon

ultimately both found together,

next to each other in d’ saloon

You can’t escape me ,my dear,

barber kidded with amused grin

wrapped cloth around my neck,

asked d’ style of cut, I’m keen?

A zero cut for him, dad pleaded,

pointed him through the mirror

without moving his neck a bit,

not bothered what’s my answer

Barber gave a mocking smile,

you seem to be son and father!

My head,so its my choice dad,

no, u are a school going minor

Unrest bubbled deep in mind,

hung my head in utter despair

blew anger through pursed lips,

set to abandon d' precious hair

Coolly consoled grieving soul,

if ever become a mighty ruler

A ban order with instant effect,

no haircut of dad-son together

No zero cut trim, no tonsuring,

lewd hair styles to be forbidden

heterogeneous cuts per choice,

unalike age, in separate saloons

On thick black mane of mine,

snip snap went sharp scissors

destiny may be d’ sole cause,

which forced me to surrender

It’s so disgusting, I trumpeted,

when got up from saloon chair

must be d’ candidate’s choice,

brutish/ elegant cut, as desired