Airhead

Give your nose a little push,
Then listen for the quiet whoosh.
You're told there's only brain in there,
But are you sure
it isn't air?
That cranium can hold a lot,
Make room in there
For more than snot.
You gotta' let the knowledge in,
So fingers up now,
Let's begin.
Just give your nose a little push
And listen
For the whoosh.

-B.C. Byron
Good thing my neck is made of taffy, or this air filled head could be a real problem.
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This poem comes from the suggestions of a 4th grade class that I did a reading for last month. The request was for a poem about a “literal airhead”, which made me wonder what would actually happen if someone’s brain was sucked out through their ear. Would the skull collapse? Probably yes, if it was sealed up and left as a vacuum. It should be okay if the right amount of air was pumped in to equalize the pressure with the outside atmosphere. Then I naturally wondered what would happen if the evacuated head were filled with air but the surrounding room was sealed and all the air was sucked out of the room. I image the head could expand like a balloon with this reversed pressure difference. It might even explode. Which would be more gruesome, the collapsing head or the exploding head? I started to write my poem about THAT and quickly realized it was probably too upsetting for a 4th grade teacher. I’m sure the kids would have liked it, but this poem was probably the safest way to go. Besides, it’s really hard to draw exploding heads, and I already have a drawing of a collapsed head (see my poem Thumb Juice).

On another note, I’m sure right now my readers are all noticing the glaring problem with this drawing. The balloon head is floating, but the poem is called AIRhead. Clearly the head would have to be filled with helium or hydrogen to float like that and, even with helium, the mass of the bone and skin would probably overcome the buoyancy of the lighter-than-air gas inside. The other elements of this drawing are realistic enough, a brainless kid still standing and holding her taffy-like stretched neck, but air floating in air? Come on, man. Learn about density!

Relax, folks. It’s just a poem.

The Mustache King

I saw a mighty manly mustache
High up on the mountain,
Majestic whiskers blowing free,
A flowing hairy fountain.
The one they said no man can claim,
Too wild to ever tame.
A 'stache like that without a face
Is such a cryin' shame. 
So I saddled up my trusty horse,
I brought my mustache rope.
I rode to meet the mustache rogue,
To catch it was my hope.
I tracked it through the rain and cold,
I hardly slept or ate
'Til I found the beast out on the plain
Our meeting there was fate.
A lasso 'round its hairy haunch
And then the battle started,
Through mud and rocks and rough terrain
I held on valiant-hearted.
Those mustache muscles gave their all,
But I came out on top.
I'd caught that frisky facial hair,
That wily whisker mop.
So now you know the story
Of this trophy on my lip,
And why I'll never have a shave,
Or even just a clip.
My mustache may be 10 feet long,
A greasy tangled thing,
But I have to keep it wild and free -
The mighty mustache king.


-B.C. Byron
Some facial hair is far too beautiful to be trimmed
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This is another poem idea from a kindergarten class I visited earlier this year. The request was actually “a person who’s afraid of mustaches”, but once I start writing a poem, it has the tendency to go in unexpected directions. This guy was definitely not scared as he conquered the great wild mustache, but I think my poem meets the spirit of the challenge. I originally started with writing about a scary mustache, which became Stachepunzel (super hard to rhyme with that), then I got stuck for 3 days, and then this poem finally happened. It’s tough to balance between pushing hard to finish something and letting the mind do its work naturally. In the end I just had to let this one flow wild and free, like the Mighty Mustache King of the mountain meadows.

Personally, I’ve never grown a mustache. I’m not sure if my lip has the skills required. I’ve almost grown a beard a few times, and I almost grew my hair long once. As the beard stubble hits that halfway point, it starts to drive me nutso. My neck itches and I feel a constant need to stroke my chin like a wisened scholar. My almost-long head of hair was actually shaping up to be pretty cool – ready for blowing-in-the-wind poses and epic guitar moves. Then I realized how hot and sweaty long hair is when I go running. I’ll leave the cool facial hair to the cowboy in my poem and the long locks to the mega hairy dude at work. No-shave November is definitely not for me, but I can respect a good ‘stache.