November Verse 8: Haircut
They meant it nicely: ‘It’s so fluffy!’
‘Einstein!’ ‘Kramer!’ ‘Snow on top!’
Skype’s corner pic made me look scruffy.
Time at last to go the chop.
Up Enmore Road to Con the barber,
best haircut this side of the Harbour:
‘Good morning, sir. What’s it for you?’
‘Short.’ ‘Short on top?’ ‘Yes, number two.’
So clippers, scissors, cut-throat razor
go to work and soon I’m shorn –
ears, nostrils, eyebrows smooth as lawn.
My head’s now ordered but, rash gazer,
wipe your eye, this state won’t last
the summer out. Hair grows too fast.
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Con is my man too, Jonathan. I’m very pleased with him, as is the person who has to see my hair on a daily basis.
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He did my hair this time Richard, but I usually get Enrico, who is a great raconteur as well as an excellent barber.
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As light and fluffy this whimsy as your former thatch-top!
For me it’s Abdul – from a little mountain-top village in beautiful Lebanon – views to the distant curve of the Mediterranean – he’s shared photos of visits back to see his agèd mother – in Gladesville by the little shopping centre – and No. 2, too!
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Jim: There’s a whole epic poem to be made out of the stories our barbers tell us
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