Lucky Tiger, ‘59

From an eleven year old mind
School quickly passes on
a warm June morning..
Past tense and long division
only fleeting memories,
he sits in his fathers's shop
while the richest man in town
settles
in the chair
for his daily shave.

He listens as two Greek immigrants,
Dan the shoe-man and Nick,
owner of the next-door cafe,
cuss and discuss in wonderful
ancient accents the problems
of local government,
the sugar beet crop,
the Dodgers chances, and
the latest gossip.
(Socrates and Plato of the
Prairies, although these were
not names he would have recognized.)

His father, white shirt and bow-tie
adorned, and his father's
white-shrouded patient
chime in too, laughter, shouting, camradarie,
reflecting off mirrors on the walls.

In the dark leather of the unused
second barber chair, the boy leans back,
breathing in, tasting smells of leather,
talc, antiseptic and Lucky Tiger Hair Tonic.

Eyes closed, listening, he savors this
glimpse into the rituals of the tribe
he will too soon embrace.

© William Davis 1991