Stopping in front a hair salon that was owned by a woman
I had met at a party around forty years ago, and asked for
her phone number— who responded, “Sorry, I have a boyfriend!”—
I looked in through the window to see if I could recognize her.
And sure enough, standing behind the first of four chairs
doing a woman’s hair, I felt sure it was her—full-figured
and with a different hair color.
When she glanced over at me and our eyes met for a few seconds,
I could tell she didn’t recognize me.
Nonetheless, I smiled and nodded as a friendly gesture
before continuing on my way, impressed that she was still working,
whereas I’ve been retired for over seven years…
