Haircut

You ever seen a man cut his own hair in the bathroom 

St. Ives and Listerine and fabric shears 

Belt loose, boots still on, hair clipped up funny 

Only one light works and it's buzzing, ninety degrees

Burnt and sweating and he's being careful 

Not gentle how he is with you, but careful 

Eyebrows arched, every sun marked crinkle 

Lines his forehead with bravery and precision 

Snip 

He looks at you for an opinion, rather encouragement 

And he grins through the sink water droplets 

Staining the mirror, and he hands you the scissors 

To get the back, but you can barely breathe 

He's warm and smells like cinnamon and dirt and beer and juniper

And your hands are shaking and he's humming low Labi Siffre

And he bows his head

Snip 

He thanks you, as if you have just completed the Lord's work 

Like you've just done open heart surgery and saved him 

A kiss, given, soft as roughout leather, in between the laundry and the door 

In between each piece that falls to the tile 

In between each thought of the rest of your lives.