Short back and sides / Samson in Glasgow

The bathroom was a sterile alter
Waiting for the priest with a handful
Of scissors, combs and razorblades.
The arrival of a prism on the toilet seat

Stole the angst from my mother's mirror.
"Cant you ever sit still?" He said.
Is there any way in the world to protest
with a philistine breathing down your neck?

The road with its poplars and Gamy grapes
Was a new terrain, a labyrinth
Twisting and turning like a cork screw
To the very heart of France.

The prism would not budge. I employed
The technique of looking without moving.
Snip snap. Snip snap. And the stained glass
window could offer no relief.

The road with its poplars and Gamy grapes
Was a new terrain, a labyrinth
Twisting and turning like a cork screw
To the very heart of France.

Coming out of a stupor into light
I saw my future on a razor's edge.
Biting my lip I didn't move,
Watching the curls fall, feeling the itch.


Les Prescott

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