The Supercuts Philosopher - #Poetry by Austin Davis

THE SUPERCUTS PHILOSOPHER

Yesterday afternoon,
I got my hair cut by a girl
with skin more purple
than the late afternoon sky
spreading lilacs across
God’s checkered floors.
The girl used her razor just a bit

too much, mixing blonde with brown
like an interpretive painting
around my chair. The woman
beside us was going on
and on about her man’s
new job stamping an apple

on the backside of every iPhone.
Purple Skin and I both laughed
at the ignorance until
I noticed the fresh ink
curling in the shape of a bruise
around her arm. The girl

who didn’t use her scissors
enough explained that her tattoo
was like a hieroglyphic. That night
she was going to quit her job at Supercuts
leave her friends and her family,
and live in a van for the next two years
wherever there are trees. The girl

had the same book of Bukowski
resting against her tip jar
that I had left next to my toothbrush
this morning, yet, on my way out,
as I called my girlfriend
to tell her we should buy an RV,

I couldn’t help but wonder
how the figure in the girl’s tattoo
could look so afraid, while
she could seem so alive. ​

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