Imagine being anyone, a barber
for instance honing his razors,
shaking the tall white sheet
from its corners and sweeping.
All clippings and small talk,
a deft stroke from Saturday’s game,
how weather is, how money,
the punchlines of six jokes.
His contempt, his power
to make any man ridiculous
in a glitter of scissors and mirrors,
one arm a brush then a hand:
You want anything Guv –
blades, rubbers, a change
(wink nudge) is a rest.
And then:
When he gets there
When he kneels in the Sistine Chapel
with his missus for the blessing
on 20 years wedded bliss God’s bailiff
the Pope says
So who cuts your hair John?