I knew I was right to buy the clippers-
you were unsure
nervous you’d make mistake.
Now look at you
move around my seat
in our bathroom mirror-
like a chemist with a test tube
while the buzzers buzz the electronic roar that sounds bored rather than angry-
the teeth run across my scalp
and give me goosebumps.
Every time you apologise too much, and say
it’s hard because it’s thick, like cutting grass,
but you scythe big, broad strips away- more
combine harvester through corn. You’re getting good!
Eyes closed, temple pressed-
directed by your fingers-
I bend my neck
while scissors slip behind my ears
against tough clumps-
unkempt strands of keratin snap
and drop softly and fall on my bare, pale chest
and freckled shoulders-
till I looked scored by countless little lacerations,
or made of cracking porcelain.
But you clap away the building bundles,
and afterwards you’ll brush it off my body
and ask me if I think it looks OK-
I already know it will.