Been trimming his hair since
it was dark brown, thick, straight,
easy to cut for an amateur like me,
though after all these years,
I suppose I’m a semi-pro, and my
fee has never gone up: a penny
or a kiss, as established by little
boys whose hair I cut as a favor to
their mom (can it be?) 40 years ago.
They offered the penny; I pointed to
my cheek and, blushing, they delivered
sweet pecks I still carry with me.
But this guy—he’s gonna be 80
in a couple of days, and though he
bemoans the appearance of his
sweet scalp, he still rocks thick
white fringe that grows heartily,
which I treasure, especially on a
warm February day when we can
haul the tall chair out to my backyard,
where he can perch and we chat
as I trim, thankful for every hair
on that head, for every cut I can
do, every day we have together,
which I plan to carry with me
for all the rest of mine.
Thank you for changing your glasses!
Now we can tell who you are.
So with all these wonderful vignettes, I can hardly wait for your first short story. You have great introductions; now add a body, a teaching moment and a settlement.
Thanks, Kent! I have many short stories and essays (some published in literary journals and magazines) and two unpublished novels, actually, with all that and more. The poems have become a daily practice in quick writing and not fussing over them before sharing them. The bonus is when kind people like you comment on them!
I love this…the poem and the photo. Cutting hair is a very intimate task and you have captured it in the poem nicely. BTW, I cut Rick’s hair! He taught me, being the retired barber/hairstylist!
Thanks, Mary Ann! I had no idea that Rick was a retired barber/hairstylist. Of course, you’d be the deputized haircutter! Lucky you/lucky me!