we stole Puerto Rico, the Indies,
the Philippines     our turn to ride
karma’s carousel, my barber Nate says
when another plane hits the Towers

any other day the shop’s packed
with chess players, storytellers
and hustlers drawling over the "ohm"
of busy clippers

sweet talcum power sprinkled
on bushy bristles and Blue
sweeping hair off shape-ups

Black Magic mists clinging
dew-like to fresh cuts

Eugene lying to Nate and
the other barbers, man, off half
a Viagra tablet, I beat that thing
so good     when I tried to leave
she leaning in the doorway, talking bout
‘sweet daddy, where you goin’?’

over laughter and slapping of palms,
Ty’s heard ‘cross the shop, trying
to convince the crowd he’s never paid
strippers to leave the club with him

but that day, it was me and Nate
nobody else to lighten our mood

instead of my head in his left
palm, clippers droning in his right,
he focuses on the buildings
blowing a veil over Manhattan

Carl walks in, boasting 'bout
stealing steaks after a Murray’s
supervisor announced they were
closing early for terror alert

Nate promises Carl a trim after
touching me up

man, a few Saudis do this, now
this country scared of anybody
who look like ‘em

I check myself before Nate
brushes me down and alcohol
cools my shape-up

Carl rises, shakes his head,
boy, this country always been
suspicious of us, ever wonder why
we always fittin some profile

well fellas, Nate shrugs when I ask
how much?, the price of Patriotism
just skyrocketed

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