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CLOSE SHAVE
A plane roars above
rattling the loose sheets of the roof.
Clearly he hears the click-click
of the barber’s cold shears
close to his jugular vein.
He swallows, dryly –
a distant memory
brushes his brow
feathery, ever so lightly –
as a big ball of new grey hair
softly – heavily falls in his lap.