our mouths open wide the minute we hit the beauty shop chair
Does not matter why or how we want the cut of our hair
We are here to gossip, tell stories, have an audience of one
If a beautician wants to talk herself, she takes away our fun
We try not to get the male clinician, for he likes to talk about himself
Not him, I whisper to the receptionist as he reaches high upon a shelf.
Most of us avoid him like the clap, for we are here to be listened too.
It is a perk of course to leave with a lovely hairdo and shampoo.
gumball machine is huge at beauty shop
A trick to entice kids inside
Letting them think it will be fun
I know better
I have been here two hours
And they have not started on me yet
we trim their hair, necks, noses, and mustaches too
They come on Saturday morning, when the mail is due
we hear their stories, they gossip about their farms and such
we like our regulars, and we hear so much!
only one gives us a tip we try to get him
Two toddler toys without pieces and a gumball machine.
Not kid friendly in this beauty shop at all.
I look swiftly around. Most of the patrons are older than I am.
And I am old.
I am always amazed when I see children in here.
They bring their own toys, and they are loud.
Hand-held machines with incessant loud bings and pings.
I glance around quickly, no kids today.
I am used to silence.
I relish in it. It embraces and loves me.
I adore it. I am starting to like it here.
Rock and roll music comes on. Well, that’s okay. I can stand that.
Women at the beauty parlor wear tin foil on their heads.
It makes them look like aliens from the TV shows of the 50’s
In a contest for space woman of the day
They wear fleece pajama pants too,
And their faces are pierced.
None care what they look like.
Few can keep a confidence either.
Nothing is sacred or secret.
Every confidence is shared, in a witty,
Upbeat, happy “you have to hear this” kind of way.
I sit there for hours sometimes,
Not making an appointment or keeping one,
Slyly accessing their stories.
Everybody and their cousin wants their haircut today.
The sign is in the window as usual – stylist needed.
Great opportunity. Apply within.
It should say ten stylists needed.
Many empty stations.
Not sure what is happening here.
The usual cutters are not around anymore.
The young ones are beeping and blinking on cell phones.
Ignoring the old lady customers who are trying to shout to each other
From under old fashion beehive dryers.
The beeping and blinking
And ignoring of customers
Is driving me nuts.
If I did not look like
an unkempt, Cro-magnon man today
I would be gone.
Without the wait.
Or the bad haircut
From a stylist who
is looking at her phone the whole time she is slashing my mess.
What if the strange woman walks in here and slaps me?
I am sitting in the beauty shop, being crazy.
We have never met.
She is walking in now, directly in front of me.
Less than eight feet away.
What if she reaches down and bam!
Slaps me across the nose,
Tweaks my throbbing nose,
cuts my throat?
She is closer now, walking right toward me.
She kind of looks like a slapper.
Do I duck, flinch, or just stop being silly?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.