Crew o semicrew?
the bald Sicilian barber asked
with a stern regard
that warned the high school toughs
with Elvis pompadours
and duck’s ass backs
they’d best go elsewhere.
I no hurt you kid, he promised,
drawing the sheet around my neck
like a hangman’s noose
and stropping the razor
with the practiced motion
of an executioner.
You scared, you gonna cry?
he asked derisively
and spat into the sink.
I lay back in the chair
and clenched my eyes.
I felt the warm scented lather
coat my sideburns,
winced as he pinched my nose
and pushed my head back,
shuddered as the cold steel
scraped my skin.
Unpinning the sheet,
he shook the hair out,
flourishing it at a freckled boy
like a toreador
taunting a great horned beast.
Next, he cried.
Crew o semicrew?
Art Heifetz