The barber pole rotates red and white
Brasso rims the door pushplate gold on chipped layered green 

Through the peeled beveled glass door
Smell the wax on the linoleum floor

Feel the heat of red cracked leather on the chrome chairs.
Old police gazettes and Wilderoot
Bay rum and the snap of the shoeshine rag
Horst dances his shuffle as he struts and cuts
his white starched tunic with side shoulder buttons crisp

Mr Jenkins dozing in the sun drenched window bench, waiting his turn
Mr Smith flat out wrapped in a steaming towel
The liturgy of his daily shave
the afternoon sun hitting the flying hair
As Jim choreographs the dance at chair two.
Waiting in expectant awe for my turn hoping
I won't need the kids plank
The bay window seat covered, the faceted tacks worn
to a shine. littered with police gazettes
Out of bounds to 10 year olds
My seat is in the corner next to the potted ferns
Comics Look and Life National Geographic there for kids
Plank worn smooth by countless wide eyed boys
desperate to sit in the barber's chair like dad does.
Brilcreem Vitalis Old Spice
Chrome and porcelain barber chair thrones
foot rests and shoe shines
Hot sun
Dad goes first

Baseball game on the radio
oscillating fan
Wandering jew in the window
Ferns in a basket in the corner
Snap of the polishing cloth
SNNNNNNIP if the hand shears
WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRR of the clippers
rhythmic Slap and hiss of the razor strop
A man's world a boys dream desperate for entrance
Conversations and monologues
The worlds problems and earnest solutions debate
My turn the plank on the throne
Dad says no
Today I can sit in the barber's chair