I hate haircuts
calling and asking if they can take a walk in
trying to decipher the woman's thick accent
going into the store
empty desolate
a man behind the counter
looking up lazily from his magazine
his monotone voice
asking if I have an appointment
he tells me to sit in the chair
asks what I "plan to do"
"with life?"
"no, with your hair"
because right now my hair is more important than my existence
I hate having him touch my hair
and the faces he makes at the split ends
I hate his fingers brushing against my cheek
and seeing the Hot Cheeto evidence
on his thumb and forefinger
Ellen is on one TV
Arthur is on the other
a little Chinese girl
running around the store
asking for her phone
phone?!
she can't be older than 4
and she is asking for HER phone
the man doing my hair
gives it to her
I look at his paper license at his station
memorize the spelling of his name
look at the party streamers on the walls
the broken baseboards
the edges of the wall
that the paint couldn't reach
I hate as he tries to make conversation
asking where I go to school
what my plans are for the weekend
monotone
monotone
monotone
looking at my reflection in the mirror
not looking at him cutting my hair
I notice the grease on my nose
how poorly I filled in my eyebrows
I get sick of my reflection and look back at the baseboards
finally he is done
he blows the hot air of the dryer in my face
I cringe
he shakes out the apron and I look at the floor
I am on the floor
my DNA
everywhere
I pay and he spends 15 minutes looking for change
touching my hair as I leave
touching it in the car
touching it at dinner
I hate haircuts