Nestled in Barbersol

shaving queues had developed, the loss
of wartime steel punctuated frumpy
beards, and earlobes sported single
hairs grown who-knows-how, but some
spun tassels together from ear-to-ear,
creating a Foo-Man-Choo-look outdone
only by late night Charlie Chan,
where evil-doers sneered.

but snaked-lines were followed, and patient
barbers stroked chins, soon
made smooth enough, smooth like
baby bottoms so that jokesters sold-out
their baby powder to girl friends ready
for a kiss.

lives seemed different,
the hum of aeroplanes
overhead, and men looked up
from Sunday church service,
dreaming of escape, picturing
engine size, payloads and the
photo of Betty Grable
on the fuselage.