My first haircut
was performed by
Mr. Longshaw,
Percy, I think
a pal of my grandfather.
He wore a long
white coat
like a boffin
a tonsorial ‘Q’
with Brylcreem
traces on his sleeve
the aroma of his
pipesmoke
floating in grey clouds
above the foggy Woodbine’s
own
burning in the stolen
metal pub ashtrays
next to the bench
on which punter after punter
sat impatiently
sighing into his pocket watch
a rolled up Daily Mirror or somesuch
by his side.
His own mirror taped
with old sepia
photographs
of Tivoli matinee idols
long gone
perhaps examples
of his expertise.
I can’t be certain
what with
my innocence still intact
but I feel he did
a roaring Friday trade
in industrial strength latex products
“something for the weekend, sir?”
just a cryptic puzzle
to me then,
a bowl upon my head
and clippers clapping
above my ears
drowning out the
embarrassed affirmations.
Today my hair was styled by a young man wearing a t-shirt with a naked lady printed on it.
the blighters rock 
Oh, how times have changed. Brylcream? Those were the days! But, surely todays costumes are more … ah, interesting? Anyway, I like this, even though it is not as outwardly amusing as usual it is beautifully nostalgic and created just the right ambiance. With that said I am off for a haircut.
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