kim the barber

i felt bad for mister kim
when I purchased
a pair of men's hair clippers
from walgreens.
but it was more of a financial
decision, not a personal one.
he's a fine man.
although his stories
were boring and he always
asked me the same questions.
if I was married,
had any children,
what did I do for work?
after a few years of going
there, he didn't remember
any of my answers.
I grew weary of his
tobacco breath,
and the garlic from his lunch.
it took him ten minutes to
buzz my thin head of hair.
it takes me the same
amount of time now.
but I don't have to answer
any questions, or sit there
with a sheet tied tight
around my neck. have him
spin the chair around
and ask me how's
it look. it looks like an
apple. a fuzzy peach.
I've become a still life
bowl of fruit in the wall
length mirror.
I still see mister kim
nearly every week though.
he's standing outside smoking
in front of the barbershop.
he's wearing his blue smock
and black shoes.
I used to wave to him
as I went in to get coffee
next door, but now he turns
his back, averts his eyes.
he's done with me. done with
my hair. my life.