Saturday, 30 March 2013


'Ere's a thing -
the barber started
putting down his scissors
- suppose you 'ave a weakness, 
a desire you can't resist.
Should you avoid temptation,
-  pretend it don't exist?
His razor now moved deftly 
round to the back of my neck
Or, face it, fight it. Win or lose: 
at least you'll know yourself?
He inclined to consider his art.
Maybe it's best to walk away -
I countered
 - if you already know your heart?
I caught his eye in the mirror,
aware of my bare throat, 
the razor, an easy slice.
Well, p'raps you're right Sir -
- yes, p'raps you're right.
He backed away a step or two
- There then, all done  -
and held up a mirror
showing my head
from a different view.
Somethin' for the weakness?
He laughed at his own pun
as I stepped from the chair,
feeling tension slide away
with a small cascade of hair.

First published in Message In A Bottle Summer 2016