The Barber

He looks competent enough


standing there in his white shirt and dark trousers

as he makes slow deliberate steps

in a well worn semi circle

pivoting left and right

his sharp scissors shaping and clipping

carefully clicking along to a favorite tune

as dark mounds pile up on the floor

a shaggy witness to his art.

A trusty comb is well positioned in his back pocket

at the ready, set for its cameo appearance and then placed back

as the razor continues to hum

as he finishes up the Asian man before me

his neck freshly shaved and brushed

as the cologne is dabbed and the smock is removed and shaken.

The black and white checkered floor

quickly surrenders her dark wispy curls

as he turns from the polished chrome

and black leather chair

and announces

the next lucky customer.

It is gripping

like a one act play

and I am in the front row

then he looks at me and smiles repeating the invitation.

I smile back

it’s too late to retreat.

I walk the lonely mile

and surrender my locks

to his sharp shears.

The floor willingly accepts

my sacrifice

and the play continues

with one sold out seat

held over

as the patrons

continue to line up

down the street.

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