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Cam
Cam is sure and still and solemn
as he lifts the shining scissors
with the skilful artist’s hands
made soft from years of holding hair
and clipping hair
and trimming hair
and edging hair
and shaping the tangled, split-end masses into sleek and shiny styles, sculpting in living stone and painting on a human canvas
He does not talk the barber’s talk
like the other hair cutters and nail painters
He does not babble about
movies, shopping, flirting, magazines
He does not offer useless advice.
We are not friends as in other hair salons,
not two females giggling and gossiping,
trading tips on cooking, shopping, losing weight
and the hundred and one other stupid things that women talk about
but an artist and his canvas
both silent, quiet, waiting, watching
neither needing to talk
in the presence of the art
of cutting hair
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