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Castries' Barber Salon

What it means
to stare past my reflection and see
the beat-up guitar that is older
and more significant than I am,
the acoustic bass and

past that, a tabletop Centipede game
that stays on all night
illuminating no faces

and past that, three barberís chairs
and mirrors
all that sterile metal
shining in the dark,
the pictures of beautiful people
with no names and past that,

days and business and
family and music that comes
easier than breathing,
is to see
into a past

that steals my breath away
from song. That is sung always
by an unseen stranger
whose fingers groove to fit the strings
of this guitar.

(August 7, 2003)


© Katherine Maheux, 2003.