Having hauled down my pyjamas
They dragged me, all legs and teeth,
- resistance
That fateful afternoon, to a stool
Before which the barber hunkered
- haunched
With an open cut-throat. He stropped it
On his palm with obvious relish.
-
I did not like his mustachios, nor
-
Hid conciliatory smile. Somehow
They made me sit, and two cousins
Help a leg apiece. The barber
-
Looked at me; I stared right back,
Defying him to start something.
-
He just turned aside to whisper
-
To my cousin who suddenly cried
-
‘Oh look at that golden bird,’
And being only six I looked up;
Which was all the time he needed
-
To separate me from my prepuce.
‘Bastard, sonofapig,’ I roared,
‘Sister-ravisher, you pimp
and catamite,’ While he applied
-
Salve and bandaged the organ.
Beside myself and indignation
-
and pain, I forgot the presence