haircut

I'm going to be late.

I'll miss my appointment.

A haircut not to be.

But if I leave now,

I'll be hopelessly early, and,

I'll have to shelter in an expensive coffee shop.

Oh God, I need to pay.

That means going to the cashpoint.

Add 10 minutes onto journey.

I hope I'm not late.

I'd be so ashamed to arrive and

Claudio is serving someone else,

Cutting beautiful stylish hair,

And I arrive sweaty and bedraggled.

Too late, they say, too late.

I stand in the salon, no free coffee,

No smiles at reception now.

And I'll travel back to Peckham

With my frightful hair sitting on

Unplucked eyebrows

Wishing Claudio had waited.

Or maybe Claudio will wait.

Maybe he'll gruffly shake his oily curls

And I'll sit in the chair, terrified,

That he'll cut my hair horrible

On purpose.

And I'll sip my free coffee and worry,

And when I get back to Peckham,

No amount of Looks Lovely will persuade me

That he didn't cut it wrong.

So now I'd better go

I'd better go.

But then, what if I arrive on time,

And he sees the state of me,

If only I knew what to wear,

If only I knew what Claudio wants,

Then I could have the most marvellous hair.