11 years since his death & the thrill remains of that assent – to me taking
the glint of scissors and snipping at his dark, damp, half-
Teddy Boy locks, even to his scrawl of sideburns, though he chided –
“you’re doing it all wrong!” agitated by the Montreal
heat and erratic on his meds – still any chance of getting close to Frank
in a normal, everyday, pseudo-domestic sense
stirred me, though why I didn’t keep one black shaft of what I clipped
I will never understand.