A soothing reggae tune oozes from the speakers

Its message far more ominous and compelling,

Sharper than the reverberating razor in his hands.

 

He gently cleans it in the best way he knows how

Pouring over it a glistening oil followed by surgical spirit

Then looks at me in anticipation, an almost ‘are you ready?’ nod.

 

He drapes my shoulders in a black linen cloth

Gently ties a knot behind my back – not too tight, not too loose

A ritual that feels new and strange every time.

 

I’m seated facing the mirror pondering his next move

Half filled with excitement, half fearing the shears in his hands

Rumor has it, a slight mistake and the damage is precarious.

 

He gently lowers his blades toward me; I can loudly hear their mechanical components

The cutting parts honed on granite stone and driven by electrons

Gyrating metal elements that leave a chill when that close to the ears

 

Yet am not worried for I trust the precision in his hands

Like a garden trusts the gardener with his various daunting tools

Severely armed to tidy and weed out unwanted vegetation

 

The sound that emanates from his pulsating razor when it lands on me,

Reminds me of an exciting tender age, mowing our front yard

My mind focuses on the resonance of metal on grass

 

He slowly shapes his way around, starting from the southern corner

Trimming off overgrowth in successive and defined motions

That lulls me back to the lawn, the smell of freshly cut grass

 

He ushers me to the mirror as he nears the edges

My silent approval ushers him on, now in shorter cycles

He might have been a landscaper in his previous life

 

He then lifts his razor, adjusts the lever and tests it on his finger tip

He’s keen to keep it just ferocious enough to clip off a nice hedge 

But still sufficiently mild to glide off my skin in sweeping slashes

 

He finishes off with a hot swab, always the best part

A perfect contour of neatly trimmed mustache slowly takes shape

An after shave cologne wades through the air as it stings on my skin

 

I smile at the landscape transformed right in front of my eyes

And the mirror smiles right back at me in content agreement

A once shabby face now gleaming like a well tendered artwork

 

Script n rhyme

By Shedyk