A Close Musical Shave

I slide into Mr. Chapman's black leather barber's chair
and Mrs. lathers my chin and neck. Grinning
from luxuriant mustache, he strops his long razor
while whistling a Lizst polka, begins to shave me,

in long strokes, the blade tickling my neck and jaw bones,
while Mrs. joins in the tune, stroking the piano keys.
He informs me he's an American, and he sports

the Stars and Stripes on the mantle, upside down,
with the Royal Navy ensign similarly displayed,
but his accent is distinctly Eastern European,

I learn later that he'd been a feldscher in Poland,
a barber-surgeon, as his papers testified,
under the name Severin Klosowski. My friendly barber,

with his intimate knowledge of poisons, tartar emetic
and antimony, and his ladies: Mrs. beaming from the piano.
He slaps aftershave on my pristine shaved cheeks,

the pungent aroma assaults my nostrils, I hand him
a shilling, reclaim my walking stick, re-enter the day
as another customer begins their musical shave.

Christopher T. George

Some revisions here--

A Close Musical Shave

I slide into Mr. Chapman's black leather barber chair
and Mrs. lathers my chin and neck. Grinning behind
luxuriant mustache, he strops his straight razor, shaves me

in long strokes, the blade tickling my neck and jaw bones,
while Mrs. plays a Lizst polka, stroking the piano keys.
He informs me he's an American, and he sports

the Stars and Stripes on the mantle, upside down,
with the Royal Navy ensign similarly displayed,
but his accent is distinctly Eastern European.

I learn later that he'd been a feldscher in Poland,
a barber-surgeon, as his papers testified,
under the name of Klosowski. My friendly barber,

with his intimate knowledge of poisons, tartar emetic
and antimony, and his ladies: Mrs. beaming from the piano.
He slaps aftershave on my pristine shaved cheeks,

the pungent aroma assaults my nostrils, I hand him
a shilling, reclaim my walking stick, step into the day
as another customer commences his musical shave.

Christopher T. George