Jethro Jensen Cuts Ephraim Hacker's Hair

Sagging lids creased

can’t stop him from seeing —

hands like crinkled maps

.

folded over & over

by time. Even the lazy dog

watches its master —

.

waits for the bone

or a discarded scrap to fall.

On the wall, 31 new starts

.

hung like red-lettered words

off the lips of Pastor Joe,

the weekly Wednesday gathering

.

about to start.

.

"Ain’t seen you ‘round here

for some time"— a nod, then,

a silver lock pulled

.

through fingers stained

mustard by the puff

of a tawny Marlboro butt.

.

Never much of a talker, Ephraim;

the ancient, rusty fan

does most of his speaking —

.

while metal blades prune

the lion’s ever-growing mane

& the dry scissored-hum

.

croons him a lullaby.

.

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