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 hands are steady
as his sharp scissors
shape and clip
carefully clicking along
to a favorite tune.

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.

The cologne  dabbed
and the smock  removed
and briskly shaken.

The black and white checkered floor
quickly surrenders the dark wispy curls
carefully swept
before he turns from the polished chrome
and black leather chair
and announces
NEXT!

It is a gripping
one-act play
and I am in the front row.
He faces me
and then smiles
repeating the invitation.
I gulp
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.