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.
Hands steady
his sharp scissors
shape and clip
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 briskly 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

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

I gulp, jolted back into reality
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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