Cam is sure and still and solemn

as he lifts the shining scissors
with the skilful artist’s hands
made soft from years of holding hair


and clipping hair


and trimming hair


and edging hair


and shaping the tangled, split-end masses into sleek and shiny styles, sculpting in living stone and painting on a human canvas
He does not talk the barber’s talk
like the other hair cutters and nail painters
He does not babble about

movies, shopping, flirting, magazines
He does not offer useless advice.
We are not friends as in other hair salons,


not two females giggling and gossiping,


trading tips on cooking, shopping, losing weight


and the hundred and one other stupid things that women talk about

but an artist and his canvas

both silent, quiet, waiting, watching
neither needing to talk

in the presence of the art

of cutting hair