the barber,
who gave me haircuts from the age of ten
until i was seventeen
used to stop
me on the street and
laugh
as he looked at my
long hair
down to my shoulders.
all of it held
back by a decorative
head band.
are you ever
getting your hair cut again?
he'd ask.
remember how
i used to part it on
the side
for you
and put Bryl creme
in your hair.
you were such a handsome
little boy.
i smiled and said,
we'll see. maybe,
once that war mongering
Nixon is out
of the white house,
maybe then.
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