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.
Amene.
Güd wrtr 
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 I have many short stories and essays (some published in literary journals and magazines) and two unpublished novels, actually, with all that and more.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!