By Novid Shaid, May, 2010
I’ll never forget, when my ears were still wet,
And I learned one of life’s painful lessons.
I won’t be surprised if you’ve learned this yourself
You can’t judge a bloke by appearance.
It was when I was ten, when the days didn’t end,
I was having a really bad hair day.
My fringe: quite misshapen, my sideburns: forsaken,
So mum said: “Get a haircut and hairspray!”
I entered soon after, the Italian barbers
Whose hair was considerably wavy.
He gave me a wink, and a curious blink
By habit; he was a little bit crazy.
I sat with a gig, by a bloke with a wig
Just sitting there, minding my business.
When I glanced straight ahead at the barber’s mirror
The sight that I saw left me speechless.
He sat there, a giant, an abominable tyrant,
With a scar on his face which made him look fiery.
His skin was as tough as the mail of a titan
And to top it off, he was glaring right at me!
I panicked, dismayed, looking the other way,
This bloke sent me in a fit of tight shivers.
He looked like a butcher, or a serial killer
And I’m sure that he wanted my liver.
Perhaps he would rob us, right after his haircut
Tie us up and never release us.
He’d break us in two, feed us to his wolves
I was trapped by this human tyrannosaurus.
The terror entwined in my innocent mind,
When suddenly I came to my senses,
The barber had finished his last ever haircut
And above me towered my nemesis.
I was stuck to my chair by his punishing stare
As he stood arching over the barber
He reached in his pocket; my heart was a rocket,
Any minute he’d brandish a chain-saw!
I gripped onto my seat, accepting defeat,
Despairing, I was too young for mass murders.
When the barber just stood there and looked at this man-bear and said:
“Are you up for some snooker?”
I thought that was queer, questioning my ears,
Has our barber turned totally barmy?
This man for his humour would torture a panda,
He replied: “Yer I’ll play; then we’ll order a curry!”
My heart went berserk, like a surge of fireworks,
I realised he wasn’t a murderous zombie!
Not a man from the mountains or chainsaw wielder
He was one of the barber’s old cronnies!
This man paid and left, giving me no eye contact,
And I just sat there feeling terribly stupid.
I misjudged his appearance out of sheer prejudice
And from then on, my world seemed to broaden.
So I tell you in case, you see a strange face,
Which fills you with fear and suspicions
Just remember my tale, which ended in shame
You just can’t judge a bloke by appearance!