Stan moves a little closer with his scissors holding court, the kingdom of my hairline for a boy it’s going short. The smell of talcum powder is enough to drive me mad, and a copy of a Playboy sits open near my dad. What tune of Kenny Rogers played, that made old Stan sing, as he moved on to his clippers, and made my neck a sheen, the better part of manhood spent was getting my hair cut, as the bib went on around me, and the chair got jacked on up. My dad he parlors wisdom with the man who knows his part, they talk of Richard Nixon, local weather as an art. The barber shop is boiling hot in winter, fall or spring, but damn well near an ice box when the heat of summer clings. A barber with a well groomed face, a union at his back, those times with dad and Stan McQueen were the framework of my past.

So cut just like in 72, when everything is green, when my whole open world, has yet to feel a brutal sting. Sweet smell of musk or just old spice, nose hairs a far off thing, my barber Stan and just my dad, the best the world can bring. So Kenny Rogers sang a song about *”Ruby, out the door”, and as it is, I hear my dad, “were fighting a lost war”. A mind like mine still sees brown hair, falling to the floor, and Stan’s strong hand near his face, some tears he can’t ignore.

The lather strong upon dad’s face, his eyes set skyward blue, they close in peace, as Stan shaves, the way a good man’s do. Kenny sings, *”she’s leaving now, there’s slamming of the door”. The sound of steel upon dad’s face, the face that I adored. A barber’s song, I can’t erase, its keep’s me feeling warm, and so Stan say’s “remember this, boy it fights the storm, boy it fights the storm”.

So cut just like in 72, when everything is green, when my whole open world, has yet to feel a brutal sting. – 11.13.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

*lyrics “Ruby” – Kenny Rogers

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