Only the person, says our barber,
who sits in my working chair
is a customer. The rest,
who wait, can leave anytime.
Waiting seems like
an aqueous island between oceans,
an intertestice of infinite possibilities
between two accomplished impossibilities -
one can pace up and down,
one can go or call or chat,
smoke or have tea,
kill someone or kill oneself.
All those who wait
can never be customers,
he's right. In his waiting for people
how closely he
misses Life,
all the while keeping
three chairs
for one customer.
