On my San Francisco barber in his several locations

Intimate, discreet, he did not stare. My time was at his feet.

The man took care

to talk, but not about

the gray, the years, the vanity, the doubt.

Under his shears

on Union Street, Nob Hill,

finally the place on Chestnut, my head held still,

I've known such grace.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.