Time Lesson 9: How to Cut It

I sliced the back of my neck the other day.
Not huge, but not small either. Lots of blood.
I was pissed. It’s come to this. Really.
You see, I’ve started cutting my own hair again, as I did back in my Madison days.
It’s hardly as easy as I thought it would be to get back in the swing of doing my own doo.
44 years ago, I seem to remember it was simple to juggle left is right and vice versa,
snip here, taper there, switch scissors and comb hands,
look in this mirror in front to see the back of my head in the mirror behind.
44 years later now, I’m constantly stopping, confused about what
my right hand or my left, or both should be doing.
So now I have this bloody wound and a crappy pandemic haircut to boot.
Not that the haircuts 44 years ago looked like they’d been done by a pro.
They were, maybe, pretty shitty too.
I can’t remember how good a job I might have done back then.

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