Haircut

What nervous anticipation
The Russian immigrant
Will wash my hair
Always making me feel
Like I made a mistake

Once I am sitting upright in a chair
I am a little more at ease
Seeing a familiar face
And not leaning back
Over a sink
Which one would think
Would be unusual for anybody

I used to cut my own hair
Why did I cease?
A simple buzz or mohawk is child's play
Whereas a real men's haircut
Should be
Performed by a professional

I am never really convinced
That in his own country
This man was a barber
But now in this land
The question one must ask
How badly can the outcome of a cheap haircut be?

Two reasons I have come back:
It is cheap
It is attached to the subway station that I frequent
If there were a third reason, it would be:
They did a fine job
But, I must admit
I can't remember if this is the case

The excitement mounts
Scissors or clippers
Big or small
It's scissors first
(Too close to the ear)
Never mind the anxiety
The man is a professional
Professional what?
Butcher?
Baker?
How was this man attached to his homeland?
Surely, not as a barber
Although
One can never tell
Until after the hair has dried

It is made wet to be clean
Easier to cut
Once it is dried
You can see the true state of things

But isn't it the trick of a crafty barber
To style your hair when you are leaving the chair
In some fashion that one would never keep
After which you must go to the nearest reflective surface
Muss it up
And see where the hairs really land

There are always strays
And, it always falls too neat
But, if he knows this trick
Maybe he is, in fact, a real barber?
Or, is that simply
Barbery 101?

Here on the train
As the anticipation grows
I can still just decide
To tell my boss
That I haven't had the time
--
1.23.08