My Father the Barber
My father was a barber, he became one during WWII and worked into his 80’s.
My father
Stood at his chair
Generations of hair, he trimmed
In his barberly way
Quiet, tall, kindly mannered
Spoke, always, in low tones
A kind word
Friendly gesture
For everyone
Started the conversation
Listened, never interrupted
Sports, politics, the weather
Capturing the mind
Of his client
Capturing my heart
Taking it with him
I miss you pops
© 2009 by DC Lessoway
Posted in: Uncategorized
Great poem!
Beautiful in its simplicity. And vivid….I immediately got a picture in my mind’s eye of my dad cutting my Uncle Donald’s hair. 🙂
Thank you both for your kind words. My father, who was, for my life, a single father (long story as I was the distant last of 8 as my mom left when I was 5 or so) and who I miss so dearly.