Old Men in a Barber Shop

Bell chimes.
Men dressed in striped polos, suspenders,
hair combed to a widow’s peak,
slap backs, swig a coffee,
They pump up seats,
fold arms into themselves,
talk from when their wrinkles
were in the clouds,
when cheering the Yankees was a habit,
One remembering the old milk cow Betsy
and schools where rulers
proposed discipline,
when shoving snakes in sister’s bonnet
was an innocent joke.
They tumble into laughter,
pound knuckles,
They button the time and hunch themselves out,
They slip into their cameo pick-ups and
chug slowly away.

Through the 3rd Eye was supported in its inception by the Grand Rapids Humanities Council and is currently made possible by continued volunteer effort and private support. Copyright 2013.