Runaway Poem by joe wprtham

The Runaway

She seems out of place
Sitting alone in a barber shop
Lost in a world and to the world
Waiting, waiting for what?

You look about, it's Friday
School is out and mothers and fathers
Have brought their kids in for a monthly hair cut.
Who brought her here?

Three chairs are active
One is vacant.
The musician, artist turned barber
Has a gig tonight and is not here.

The owner who greets all who enter,
Trying to hurry, seeing but not seeing the faces
Of waiting men, women and children.
Five o'clock will soon be here.

The woman in her early forties
Who always wears a happy face
Is hurrying best she can
The mound of hair on the floor grows.

In the back chair
The new barber who is dreadfully slow
Is slower yet - her customer,
A black woman is having here hair straightened.

This shop mostly caterers to old men
Old men and their wives
Workmen coming in from a job
Or parents bringing in their children.

The girl sits
The magazines and newspaper
On the bench is untouched
She is alone.

Most kids have a cell phone
She has none
Most kids play games
She does not.

She is dressed not as a child just out of school
Dress codes are relaxed in this seashore town
Her clothes speak of another world
Shorts and top that reveal.

On her left thigh
A large tattoo
Black scroll
The shorts do not conceal.

The back of her blouse - open
Designed to reveal her back
And the bindings
Of her brassiere.

She has no purse
Nothing to carry
She is alone
Lost in a world and to the world.

Her keeper sits in the far chair
Always looking
Her eyes never leave the girl
Who she owns.

The tide of kids
Sweeping in from the schools
Appears never ending
There is detris on the beach.

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