I am in love with my barber.

She tells me she is forty-one.
I am fifty-five
and a little lost.

She rubs my head with warm water
and shampoo.
I close my eyes and smile.
She cuts me close and runs her palm
over the bristles.

I ask if she has any tattoos
and she surprises me by
lifting her shirt to show a small,
arcing blue dolphin above her pelvic bone.

The flesh on her stomach is softly, warmly
marbled like melon or peach.

I want to touch it.

10/15/2011

Posted on 10/16/2011
Copyright © 2026 David Hill