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!