3:32 p.m. - 2001-05-20
haircut by spurs
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this poem is written by spurs and i find it funny and kind of solemn too.we were studying in school then and the teachers would inspect your hair length and so on...we went to the pink panther,a shop filled with odd stuff like signboards and old world war 2 motorcycles.
a haircut
a haircut i refused,
forced by circumstances to do so,
resentment against society flooded me so
to the PINK PANTHER i go.
the PINK PANTHER?
a niteclub it is not,
certainly not vidal sassoon too
what greeted me was a malay gentleman
o' the great hairstylist himself.
four seats lined up,
a mirror for each seat
two motorcycles,antique ones,at the back
"fancy decorations."i thought.
armani cut;stepped;overlapped
choices choices choices
"have a jap-hairstyle ",said a punk.
advice from pooh the punk himself.
"jap hairstyle?"
"those which flank the ears,
makes you look goon-like hairstyle?"
"you are joking," i said to pooh.
i sank my 138kg onto the cushion.
instructions i ranted:
"cut the fringe,slopes for back and sides."
"okay", the great said.
the shaver kissed my head,
left its legacy on my hair,every whirr for every slope,every hair cut.
"goodbye," i breathed,
a valediction for every hair,
"you have served me well."
a metamorphosis took place...
an image of thomas ong appeared in the mirror,
replacing the gawkiness and sloppiness.
ladies,here i come.
"eight dollars," said the great.
i handed ten,two above the rate.
a crisp purple note was returned.
softly i said a thank you...
and left.
