THE HAIRDRESSER'S DEATH

Long, shaggy black hair covers her Oriental skull
As she trims my lengthy brown hair
Half an inch off only I say to her.
She hums as she works. I close my eyes
Disliking the mean, bright lighting
Showing imperfections harshly
Avoidance of mirror's reflections.

Click, click, click the scissors
Cutting, cutting cutting

Now she's finished - brushing my neck
I peer in the glass
Lo and behold
She's cut my hair to half an inch

What you have done, I cry
I let out a scream as she backs away
Grab my bag and pull out
The bone-handled long thin blade
And thrust it into her throat.

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