by Poala

As I sit in the barber chair waiting for him to shampoo my hair
smells of after shave and tonic make me glad that I am there.

Wrapping the barbers cape around me feeling so snug and tight
so relaxed in the chair just being there seems so right.

When the barber tilts the chair back to the shampoo bowl,
I am waiting, for thick lather and suds, anxiously anticipating.

With my pompadour hair brushed high and swept straight back,
layerd with hairspray it's shining so black.

Combing, brushing and blowdrying, it takes hours to get this way,
working on my pompadour taking me all day.

Streams of warm water wetting down my swept back hairstyle
moving the hose over my head, enjoying all the while.

The shampoo from a bottle he applies to my wet hair,
vigorlously messaging his fingers everywhere.

Soon I am worked into such a thick lather,
having no care my head tilted back he is shampooing my hair.

Feeling so good and relaxed in his chair I could stay
lifted up from the shampoo bowl i try to delay.

All too soon I am rinsed with the jets of warm water over my hair
wishing all that thick lather that could always stay there.

Appling styling gel upon my head, with brush and comb,
he starts the blow dryer.

Again the pompadour swept back and brushed so much higher.

With my puffed up hair combed and thickly sprayed I leave the shop,
knowing in future days for a shampoo I again will stop.

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