My grey hairs itch like puberty did.
I thought, I scratched deep enough.
Digging around where the root lives,
Foundation upends, desperately.
Four fingers against the surface
With the right hand, and the left planted
Pushing the barbershop doors open.
I entered the shop and made a head nod-
Right away, the barber knew
What wasn’t said. To me, he lifted his
Finger to his neck, with a horizontal SLIT!
And I said “Yes, that’s it.”
I walked out a bald man, feeling topless.
I needed a clear head and it was crystal.
But it wasn’t so obvious, it was still here.
I now need the itch in my beard clipped.
I needed him to take care of it. He didn’t.
I needed a direct hit. The barber missed it.
I needed that gone. My help, was absent.
I needed a clear jawn. And it was crystal,
this was a problem to have.
While stress levels peaked,
Loud and high underneath.
Nappy, from the crown down the nape,
Strapped tight, settled around the chin.
Black and gray curls rained down
Onto the shop floor from up above.
Nappy on the face, just is.
That made the skin itch. Even if,
A razor made way on a trim. Again,
The bulk of hairs where spared,
Completely concealing the chin.
I had to face-show hair.
I had to highlight the end of hairs:
I left the sunrays there, in Philadelphia,
where I lived. And it was a show of
Brilliant vibrant facial hair to society.
Few men got close, because pride was hair.
It wasn’t the mini jungles, they feared, but
‘How thick’ was the mane one.
It’s very nature evolved an understanding,
I was not Lion. To myself,
As human as I can be. But,
I felt like the king, everyone everywhere,
Expected I’d become.
Whether old’n gray or bright bleach,
Up to the ends, represented me.
A show of life that can kill, if not respected.
I accepted it here, I had to.
I didn’t expect it to grow into this.
I had to let the Sunni itch.