Dario Anderson, Esq. Dyes His Hair (a poem)

Dario, O Dario.

They will always laugh at you, don’t you know? 

After attending Abraham Lincoln School of Law. 

You thought you’d arrived when you put your law license on the wall. 

In your office that sits in a strip mall. 

Just outside of Sacramento. 

There you sit, the same old Dario. 

No matter where you’ve been. 

The same refrain rings true again. 

Dario, O Dario.

They will always laugh at you, don’t you know? 

One day not so long ago, wrinkles began to find their place.

On your creepy grinning face.

You thought it couldn’t be true. 

What would you do? 

The wrinkles and the graying hair increased. 

“My God,” you thought, one day I will be deceased. 

The women you used to chase. 

Started throwing drinks in your face.

“Justice 4 You” you yelled in your TV ads. 

Yet all anyone saw was an aging cad. 

Dario, O Dario.

They will always laugh at you, don’t you know? 

Even when the lights are low.

Your age still shows.

How could you turn back your clock? 

Perhaps a little Botox. 

You have a party with boxed wine. 

The women will come to have a good time. 

The party starts and there you see. 

A ginger-haired beauty named Laramie.

She also dances on a pole under the lights.

So, you hire her to run your firm and say “she’s bright.”

Dario, O Dario.

They will always laugh at you, don’t you know?

Laramie gets you to dye your hair all different shades from dehydrated pee yellow to shit-stain tan to butt hair brown.

Jokes about you spread all over town.

Yellow hair, tan hair, reddish hair, black hair, gray hair reduce you to an avatar. 

The lawyers howl with laughter as they search the various images on Google and say, “How did he drift so far?”

Then you take her way down South. 

To Atlanta for a conference and put the picture up on Facebook with that shit-eating grin on your mouth. 

Now, there’s so much smoke. 

And everyone laughs at you because you are a joke.

Laramie splits town one day. 

While the flowers bloomed in the month of May.

But you don’t know why she left. 

And you are afraid to call what she did to you a theft. 

She bamboozled you, you old fool.

And to think you thought you were cool.

How much money did you give Laramie? 

Before she left town to Miami? 

Dario, O Dario.

They will always laugh at you, don’t you know?

Now, you sit alone in your pitiful little room.

Knowing death may come for you soon.

Where did the time go? 

You simply don’t know.

Dario, O Dario.

They will always laugh at you, don’t you know?