Shaky Hands

Sitting in a high chair,

Eyes closed –

Lean back, breathe in

As the towel around my shoulder folds.

My hairdresser looks in the mirror

Glassy blue eyes

With shaky hands –

They swear he is high.

Most people they fear him

His shaking hands

They break their nerves.

He’s an unstable man.

Like them quivering hands

They can’t trust

The shaking

Of scissors that rust.

Fearful if he slips

If those shaking hands fail

The consequence

That will be unveiled.

I lean back, snip, snip

I have faith

In those shaky hands

A confidence you can’t take.

Those glassy blue eyes

Never waver

His shaky hands

Never falter.

Story behind the poem:

Written in memory of someone who use to be my hairdresser. He had hands that shook something terrible.



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