By Novid Shaid, May, 2010

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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.

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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!”

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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?”

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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!”

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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!

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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.

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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!