In the Cut
I think I’ve been feeling of late, a little like an old lady.
In the Cut
I live in a little house in Brooklyn
around the corner from a sleepy barbershop.
Occasionally a wrinkled Italian will sit, having
his pate shaved by a bored, doughy thirty-something.
But most days, through the floor-to-ceiling windows
are visible the backs of barbers – a pair -
their hands maneuvering not tools but controllers,
and gaping up at a screen unreasonably wide,
alive with fluorescent activity.
I walk past, hands clutching the day’s bills, newspapers,
and receive a small nod, a wink. I wonder at what age will
do to small charms. Today, the sight of grown men whittling
away days upon which I struggle to keep my grasp
is almost more than I can bear.
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This entry was posted on January 13, 2011 at 6:39 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments.
Tags: barbershop, Brooklyn
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