A Venetian Rattle.

How the blinds shake in the breeze & tap The placard arcing idly. An orange and aqua and pink pole screws Wildly upward, while his scissors, his Oils, his striped bibs Wait. His combs stew in blue alcohol. And on the word "good" I seem to see one of his Low-lidded little girls, sitting on a knee, Patting his head, speaking of Lime Ice on ther tongue when I see inked For a Good Haircut Come On Into Benny's! Twice underscored, a meteoric point of exclamation. And Benny sits, reading The Knights of Columbus Herald, His foot tapping The clean floor, at the end of a Neat row of neon-green-gleaming barber chairs.