Memories Of Me

When I was young my two oldest brothers were twenty and twenty one years older than me,Both were established barbers.They had a brilliant idea that they should send me to school to become what was then known as a Barber-Stylist..(I really just wanted to be a dog groomer,but what the hey, it was their dimes!)

I was so afraid of the public having been reared in such a country setting where we only went into town like once a month,but I did so..

The first real style they taught us was a couple of styles called the Memory One and Memory two.(it just meant precision cut and the hair would stay feathered,no matter how tussled)

Of course I panic when giving my first haircut,ever the writer, I ran home, and wrote the following poem.

Memories Of Me

The customer sat down in my chair

all I could do was stand and stare

I felt the trembling in my knees

As he said a "memory" please

I looked up, and all around

There was no instructor to be found

Then I pretended a "barber" to be

That's when this calm kinda came over me

As the hair began to fall

I found it wasn't hard at all

When I had finally completed my task

I knew I'd done what the customer ask

For it was surely plain to see

Till his hair grew back he'd have memories of me!