Hair Cut
1.
A distinguished
Arabic barber
Cuts my hair
In front of
A Norman Rockwell print
Called Shiffel's
Barber Shop.
Everyone in the picture is white.
A pair or Somalian
Cab drivers
Have a heated conversation
in a guttural language
At one end of the room
While Lucille Ball explains
Some hair brined scheme
To Ricky , a Cuban, on the TV
At the other room end of the room
Next to the Rockwell print
Is a numbered chart showing
Various style of hair cuts.
Only one photo on the chart
Is of a European male.
I never cared for Rockwell
I always thought he was being dishonest
Painting an idealized world
That never really existed
Except in his imagination.
And even if he was honest
that world is loooong gone!
I pay the man
and walk out into
The cultural chaos
Of the new America.
2.
After a week
In a small room
We had had enough
Of each other
So she went her way
And I went mine.
I wandered into Cancun
Found the market
which was a hodgepodge
Of shops and stalls opening
Onto little dark alleys
And went into a barber shop
Where a lovely young woman .
She gave me a shampoo
And took a long time
Cutting my hair.
All the time she cut
She talked, softly, sweetly
In halting English
That she had picked up
From a brother in law.
Her kids,
Her marriage,
Her hopes for the shop,
Her ambitions for her life,
I heard it all.
When she finished
I felt like we were
Closer than if we had spent
The hour in bed.
Back n the hotel room
My girl friend told me her adventures.
She had gone to lunch
At a restaurant and had been
Felt up by the
Short Mayan waiter.
I laughed but
I liked my story better.
3.
The gay guy who owns
The Super Cut franchise
Does a nice job on my hair
When he is in
which isn't often these days.
business being what it is
He is usually next door at the bar
leaving the shop
In the hands of his assistants.
A young Phillipeno lady man
And a forty year old
Ex con covered
In jail house tats.
I usually ask for the ex con
I think that anyone
Who can survive in prison
Doing haircuts
Where you could get killed
if you do a bad job
Is going to take his time
And not make me look
Any more foolish
Than I already do.
4.
In Cincinnati
I went to an Italian barber
And I mean Italian.
He had a heavy accent
A picture of the Pope
And a picture
Of the last king of Italy
On the wall.
He did a great job
He even trimmed my nose hair
With a pair of little scissors
At no extra charge.
One day
while I was in the chair
A clean cut black kid
Opened the door
And asked how much
A hair cut would cost.
The barber said sixty dollars
Which was a ridiculous sum.
After the kid left
The barber said to me
"I donna cut nigger hair!"
I never went back.
5.
In Hollywood
All the barbers
Are women.
Getting a hair cut is like
Spending an hour
In the harem of the sultan.
The woman are
short, middle aged
With heads of thick
Black hair,
Lots of makeup,
And large breasts
That gently caress
Your shoulders
And the back
Of your neck
As they move around you
Cutting your hair
As I say these are not young girls
They know what they are about
They giggle to each other
When you leave them a big tip.
6.
"Which hair cut you want?"
The Vietnamese girl says
Pointing at numbered
Pictures of men's heads.
"I like number two,"
I say.
"No can do two.
You like number four."
It is not a question.
I get a number four.
As the song says
"You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometime
You just might find
You get what you need,"
As long as it is a number four.
Poetry by Budart
Read 887 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2010-08-21 at 16:39
Tags Modern Life
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Rik |
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Editorial Team |
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Peter J. Kautsky |
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