Bohemian Barbers

The security shutter
on the front door is broken.
She comes to meet me out of nowhere
and leads us through the park
next door. We step over muddy puddles
and between trees and tip
toe through slippery woods and to the back
door of her brand new barbershop.
We walk past her daughter painting
a square room lighter. There are signs
from the Italian restaurant this used to be.
Friends natter on the shop floor,
scattered like the ends of fringes.
Coffee and tea and a chance to chat
about the brain development of a toddler
are offered. The security shutter engineer
fixes everything. A man and his dog
walk in and ask for a trim. For who?
Nobody talks to me about the weather
and a curly cloud lifts.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

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