go get em champ

i miss

combing my hair,

like i did when i was twelve.

a thick shock

of blonde, brown hair,

shampooing it,

brushing it,

parting it on the left side,

while

pressing down the cowlick.

i'd stand in the bathroom,

with three sisters

banging on the door,

staring into the mirror,

while holding another

mirror

to see how wonderful it

all looked.

from side to side.

the Ricky Nelson wave in the front,

just so, held up by a little

dab will do you.

i miss the barbershop,

the small

talk,

the smell of it all,

the girly magazines on the rack.

the clippers and scissors

humming

and clipping away, and me

telling the man,

with Yogi Berra arms,

just a little off the top,

please,

and then the spin

of the chair around to

view myself in the big

long mirror.

the dusting of sweet powder,

and splash

of after shave.

go get em champ, 

Luigi would say.